The Slytherin Renaissance
by My Cat Frank
Summary: What happens when our Slytherin heroes start to think for themselves and re-think the world around them? Ch5: The Malfoy Family Gala Christmas Special! Featuring empowered!Narcissa, makeover!Draco, dancing!Snape, senile!Volemort, and a nutcracker. Merry!
1. In the Beginning

**~The Slytherin Renaissance~ **

**By My Cat Frank **

** **** **

Disclaimer:Harry Potter and all related characters and universe belong to J. K. Rowling and her people.I am making no money from writing this, nor do I ever expect to. 

Warnings:Some farce, and hints at slash.More will develop in later chapters.Also, some blatant Americanisms. 

Summary:In some ways, this is a light-hearted coming-of-age story with all the joy and pain of a teen angst movie.But what will happen when our Slytherin heroes start thinking for themselves, and rethinking the world around them?This fic shows my optimistic hopes for the Fifth-year Slytherins. 

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**Chapter 1:In the Beginning There Was Darkness**

Well, it wasn't really _darkness_, like people may think of as a spiritual kind of darkness, but it might as well have been.The Slytherin dormitories were located below the ground level and had no windows.The cool insulation was fabulous during those hottest days in the middle of summer, but since this was when no students were at Hogwarts this perk was entirely lost upon the Slytherin student body.Every morning throughout the school year, students woke up in total darkness, unable to tell what time it was or even what month it was.It was like a neverending winter—as if the month of February refused to relinquish its hold over the entire Slytherin population of Hogwarts. 

It was in this sort of environment that generation after generation of Slytherins had spent a large percentage of their impressionable youth, rising in darkness, accompanied with the cold sluggishness that one experiences on those dark winter mornings.Considering the psychological effects of sunlight deprivation on the human spirit, should it be any wonder that Slytherins had a notorious reputation for negative attitudes, bitterness, and a tendency towards the dark arts? 

Keeping this thought in mind, we begin our story on a pleasant, sunny September morning.Our Slytherin friends woke up in their dark, cold dorm rooms and reluctantly rolled out of their beds, each grumbling quietly to themselves and tiredly preparing themselves for another average day.They stumbled groggy-eyed into the Great Hall for breakfast, unable to see the beautiful autumn sunlight streaming in through the enchanted ceiling above their heads, or even much further past their own noses.They ate their breakfasts silently, most of them thinking about their morning classes, some minor gossip, and the occasional bit of resentment towards everyone and everything else that was not Slytherin. 

"Ugh.Those stupid house-elves overcooked the bacon again.It's a shame Dumbledore won't let anyone torture them until they get it right." 

"Have you seen Cho Chang's tongue piercing?She says she's had enchanted so that no one over the age of thirty can see it." 

"Really?Hmm, clever way of dodging authority.Bet she could get into a lot of trouble if a professor were to find out about it…" 

"Yes, it might be something to hold over her head sometime.I'd expose her right now, except that would involve getting near her, and I don't want to risk getting any of her filthy mudblood germs…" 

Draco Malfoy had developed a fine art out of participating in conversations when his attention was somewhere else.Every so often, he would look up from his breakfast and dart his eyes across the Great Hall, though he was careful not to look long enough to let anyone see where his gaze fell.He could see Potter sitting at the Gryffindor table, smiling and laughing at some unknown joke with his little Gryffindor friends.Draco scowled at this, and returned his attention to his eggs. 

Pansy Parkinson watched Draco just enough so that he wouldn't catch on to her.It wasn't that she cared whether anyone else knew she watched him.As far as the rest of the school knew, she and Draco had been dating since last December.But for some reason, Draco seemed to get annoyed whenever she payed attention to him in public.She could tell he was distracted by something, and wondered why _she_ wasn't enough of a distraction for him.She looked down at the tiny amount of food on her plate and pushed it away. 

"Aren't you going to eat that?"Millicent Bulstrode asked her.Millicent was not afraid to let Pansy know she had been watching her.There was not much that ever seemed to inhibit Millicent, as far as Pansy was aware. 

Pansy shook her head."I'm not hungry anymore," she explained matter-of-factly.She pulled a compact mirror out of her bag and examined her makeup and hair, preening her already overly-styled appearance. 

Millicent didn't say anything to this, but turned to Draco and frowned.She caught a glimpse of Crabbe watching them, but then he turned his head and looked away.She noticed Draco was busy staring at the Gryffindor table.Who did he think he was fooling?

Goyle, meanwhile, was staring off into space, completely unaware of everyone and everything.However, no one was really interested in watching Goyle's behavior, so he was free to drift into whichever la-la land he pleased.No one paid him much attention except possibly Crabbe, and Crabbe didn't care about the inner workings of Goyle's mind.In fact, many of you fanfiction readers probably aren't interested in what Goyle was thinking about on that September morning, so for now let's leave his thoughts a mystery and move on to Blaise Zabini, whose thoughts were much more interesting indeed. 

* * *

Blaise Zabini picked at his breakfast disinterestedly, his gaze sweeping across the Great Hall.He let out a put-upon sigh, just loud enough not to be heard by his fellow housemates at the Slytherin dining table. 

Once again, his mind drifted to thoughts that troubled him deeply, but there was no way he would ever bring himself to discuss them with the other Slytherins.He just _knew_ that if they ever found out his secret, he would become the laughingstock of the entire house. 

And what was this secret?Well, it had something to do with the Sorting Hat.Blaise allowed himself to stare off into space, pondering about the stupid hat that had sorted out all of the students at Hogwarts into the four different houses every year since the founding of the school itself.How did the Sorting Hat decide who should be sorted into which house, anyway?Was it really supposed to look into his soul and decide which house fit his personality the best?Could any one person really fit any house description completely? 

He knew that the hat decided houses for some students faster than others.His own sorting had only taken a matter of seconds.Blaise looked around the Great Hall again.Each house seemed to have the same number of people:ten students per year per house, which made roughly five girls and five boys per year per house.It all seemed to work out so perfectly, especially so that there would be fairly the same number of students in each class, at each dining table, in each dorm room. 

But could it really work out so perfectly?This was the matter that continued to nag at Blaise.What would happen if, for example, one year of students entered Hogwarts and 90% of them were sorted into Ravenclaw?That would just not do.It would throw all of the carefully balanced proportions out of whack. 

No, there was more to the Sorting Hat than the school let on, Blaise decided.Each year, students took their turn under the hat.This was a process that had always been done in alphabetical order.His last name was Zabini—and of course, like with most everything else in life, the Zabinis were always the last to be sorted by the infamous Sorting Hat.So what were the odds that the Sorting Hat really put him in Slytherin because he was destined to be a Slytherin?By his logic, Blaise believed that he was put there because there was a space to fill in Slytherin House, and all the other houses were too full.Of the four houses, Slytherin was also last alphabetically, so maybe it was more likely to be filled with all the students who couldn't get sorted into the houses that fit their personalities better. 

Perhaps he believed this to be true because not all Zabinis had been in Slytherin.Some wizarding families, like the Malfoys, had always been in Slytherin House.He knew this because Draco had only mentioned it about a thousand times their first year.Blaise rolled his eyes at the thought.Blaise's family history went back just as far as any of the other "pureblooded" wizarding families in Slytherin.Though quite a few had been in Slytherin, many of his relatives seemed to have been sorted into other houses completely randomly.Blaise had actually gone to the trouble of researching his family members and their respective houses in the Hogwarts archives when he was a second year.Of the Zabini family, there had been some in Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Hufflepuff.Was this because of differing personalities within his family lineage, or was it because they were all last to be sorted and so were sent to whichever house had room leftover for one more student? 

The only exception to this logic was the Weasley family, which—he noted with some jealousy—had always traditionally been sorted into Gryffindor.He wished he had an explanation for what made _them_ so special that they all seemed to have Gryffindor room reserved for them._Their_ last name began with a _W_, which was next to last in the alphabet to Zabini—at least, for their year.Blaise looked across the Great Hall at the Weasleys, sitting contentedly at the Gryffindor table and snarfing down their breakfast as they talked and laughed about whatever it was that Gryffindors cared about.What would have happened if Ron Weasley had been sorted into Slytherin?_All the "true" Slytherins would have eaten him alive,_ Blaise thought maliciously.There was no way that Ron Weasley could ever be a Slytherin, because he had no clue how to play the part of the Slytherin.He wore his emotions on his sleeve, and Slytherins had to be reserved, secretive, and snooty. 

Blaise, on the other hand, had quickly learned how to fit in with the other Slytherins.On the surface, he was the perfect example of the cunning, conniving little asshole that all the rest of the school thought Slytherins to be.Then again, all Zabinis had adapted to whatever house they had been sorted into.Blaise had a distinct impression that their family had developed this trait as a survival tactic, to make up for their last name beginning with the letter _Z_.How else could so many Zabinis have survived seven years in Slytherin, the Unpopular House of Misfits?At least, that's how _he_ thought of his own house.He could never voice this opinion, though, because most students in Slytherin actually seemed to have some sense of house patriotism, and would never allow him to get away with saying something negative like that. 

So Blaise sat alone, isolated in his own private belief that he had unfairly been sorted into the wrong house, never once considering the possibility that maybe his personality was truly Slytherin.He always wondered which house he would have been sorted into, if he had been given a choice.Actually, there _was_ no choice:he knew for sure, as sure as anyone possibly could, which house best suited that deep, inner part of his soul that he could never reveal to anyone.It felt like he was trapped in the closet, really, because he had no one who would understand or sympathize with this feeling._You were sorted into Slytherin, weren't you?So you're a Slytherin.That's your life.That's who you were destined to be.So stop whining and act like the little Slytherin you're supposed to be._But could some stupid Sorting Hat really pidgeonhole anyone into one definitive personality, one simple group identity that defined who he was as an individual? 

So here was Blaise Zabini, sitting at the breakfast table and once again gazing at the different house tables in the Great Hall, wondering what life might have had in store for him if Fate had not thrust him into the Slytherin dungeons. 

What he really wanted to be was a Hufflepuff. 

The Hufflepuffs were always _so_ pleasant!Hufflepuffs never said cruel things behind other people's backs, Blaise believed.Hufflepuffs treated everyone nicely.Hufflepuffs carried themselves around Hogwarts spreading sunshine and daisy-like dispositions and avoided hurting other people's feelings.Sure, their team rarely ever did well at Quidditch, and they lacked the killer instinct that was required for surving encounters with the Slytherins, but to Blaise, that just made them seem all the nicer and more endearing. 

Blaise gazed longingly at the Hufflepuff table, wishing he could join them in their sweet, candy-like breakfast conversations, talking about light and fluffy subjects without all the dark sneering and insolence that often characterized Slytherin breakfasts.But of course, the Hufflepuffs would never accept a sinister Slytherin like himself at their table, and his housemates would never forgive him for trying. 

He sighed and resolutely gathered his books for class, reminding himself that he only had to endure three more years with the Slytherins.Maybe, someday, after all the nonsense of school politics and bigotry was over and he was an ex-Slytherin, he could become friends with some ex-Hufflepuffs. 

His attention was drawn to Malfoy, who was making a beeline over to the Gryffindor table followed by Crabbe and Goyle.By this time most of the Gryffindors had already left for class.Malfoy stopped at an empty section of the table and picked up a small, thin, square-shaped object.He stood an examined the object for a minute, Crabbe and Goyle peering over his shoulders stupidly, then turned back to the Slytherin table.He headed straight to where Blaise was standing and watching him. 

"Zabini!"Draco called to him.Blaise met him halfway, inwardly groaning at whatever mischief Malfoy was planning.He did not let this show on his stony facial expression, however.Draco pulled him out of the Great Hall and into an empty hallway, sending Crabbe and Goyle ahead to class. 

Draco held up the object for Blaise to see."Potter left this behind," he explained."Some muggle thing, best I can tell.Since you're taking muggle studies, I thought you might recognize what it is." 

Blaise recognized it as a CD, and took it from Draco's grasp, opening the jewel case.Carefully, he pulled the disc up from the case and cast a spell that he had learned in class.

Draco watched with wide eyes as the CD levitated itself in the air between them and began to spin.Music soon filled the hall. 

_"Finite Incantatem,"_ Blaise muttered quickly, not wishing for anyone else to hear the music.The disc stopped spinning and lowered itself quietly back into the case.He handed the CD back to Draco. 

Draco grinned wickedly."Interesting," he breathed, sliding the CD into his book bag, "**_very_** interesting.Thanks, Zabini," he added, then turned to go to his morning class."This should make for a fun project."

Blaise watched him head off to class and sighed.Yes, it was definitely going to be a long year, he decided.He looked up the hallway.Malfoy had already rejoined his goons and was droning on about how long it would take before the Dark Lord took over Hogwarts and finished off Potter and all the stupid mudbloods and muggle-lovers.Yes, it would be a _very_ long year.

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MCF:Ok, so this chapter didn't have much dialog or Draco/Harry interaction yet. I promise there will be more in the future!This prologue is mostly just to explore Slytherin sentimentality in general.Things should get more interesting as the plot thickens… 

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**Harry Potter and the Malicious Play**:

At the end of each chapter, I'm going to have a little section devoted to Harry Potter humor.I'm naming it after the "Malicious Play" segments in Fushigi Yuugi manga, for anyone familiar with that series.For those that aren't, it's worth checking out!Ok, end of plug.

From the _Daily Prophet_ classifieds section:

*****DADA Teacher Opening*** **

Do you have any experience with the Dark Arts?Do you enjoy working with adolescents?Why not try a career in education!The Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is currently seeking a new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor.Benefits include full room & board, competitive salary, full 401K.Pets ok.Successful applicants will possess knowledge about the Dark Arts and a positive attitude toward children.Preference will be given to applicants not in the employment of Lord Voldemort.Send resume and letter of application to Hogwarts, c/o Albus Dumbledore. 

**~~Journalist Wanted~~ **

The _Daily Prophet_ is seeking a journalist to cover hard-hitting current events.Must be willing to go any length to uncover what the readers want to know.Ruthlessness and yellow journalism tactics a plus.Send resume and salary requirements by owl to _Daily Prophet_ Hiring Dept. 

### Looking for a Few Good Wizards

The L. V. Corporation is looking for a few good wizards of pure blood to engage in a competitive new enterprise.Excellent benefits.Muggle-born wizards need not apply.Owl letter of application along with family history to L. Malfoy, L. V. Corp. Recruiting Office. 

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Please review!^_^


	2. A Skirmish of Wit

**~~~The Slytherin Renaissance~~~ **

**By My Cat Frank **

Yeah, if my cat went to Hogwarts, he'd be in Slytherin. ^_~ 

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated characters belong to J. K. Rowling and her people. I am using them without permission, sure, but am I making any money off of this? No way! Sheesh, if I needed money, you'd think I'd be doing something _productive_, wouldn't you? :P Oh yeah, other references will be cited at the end, so as to save the surprise. 

Warnings: Eventual slash (H/D), spoilers for GoF, muggle pop cultural references. 

Also, please note that postings on this fic will not be so frequent. My goal is to post one chapter per month. Between work and school, I haven't had much time…surely you've all heard that story before. Also, this is un-beta'd….I figure that since the university is paying me to help other people with _their_ writing, my work done don't get no better than this. ^_~ Thanks to everyone who reviewed the first chapter! --HUUUUG-- Things should pick up speed beginning right about now, as far as plot devices go….gotta love those plot devices….

Chapter 2: A Skirmish of Wit 

Summary: Leave it to the Ravenclaws to unsettle our heroes and their carefully-constructed realities. Queen fanaticism, clairvoyant hamsters, snozberries, and Draco is officially declared an underdog. More Malicious Play, this time with Voldemort!

* * *

After the tragic incidents following the Triwizard Tournament, many of the witches and wizards who knew about Harry Potter's dealings with You-Know-Who wondered just how the poor boy would cope with such a traumatic experience. He was, after all, spirited away to the care of the Dursleys, who could not understand the significance of the events. Nor did anyone expect the extended family to offer him much support or nurturing. 

The Dursleys had been warned, however, and officially advised to treat the boy wish some degree of care. For the Dursleys, this translated into a policy of careful avoidance. What with Harry's identity as a potentially dangerous wizard, his escaped-convict godfather, and the threat of God-knows-what-else, it seemed much safer just to leave Harry be--alone and uninterrupted. 

Harry really couldn't have asked for better. For the most part, he was left alone to mope about his bedroom and play out the part of the anguished fifteen-year-old boy that he was, and the most frequent interaction with his family came when Aunt Petunia knocked on his bedroom door to let him know that she had brought him some food. He never had to eat with the Dursleys all summer. In fact, were it not for the meals left in the hallway or the occasional chance meeting on the way to the bathroom, they had almost completely forgotten that Harry was still staying with them. 

So Harry whiled away his time in private--working on his homework, staring off into space, or amusing himself with the collection of random junk that his relatives had piled into his bedroom. The room had become a sort of dumping-ground for whatever they no longer used or wanted. The most amusing discovery for Harry came when he happened upon a box full of old vinyl albums and a record player that had belonged to Aunt Petunia before she had gotten married. 

The music gave him a happy diversion from his thoughts, and he ended up spending most of his waking moments listening to the records—most of which belonged to bands of the seventies and early eighties. Harry became well acquainted with Blondie, ABBA, and Meatloaf, but the band that really spoke to his soul was Queen. 

What need did he have for any other kind of music, as long as he could listen to Queen! Harry instantly fell in love with the melodies, the harmonies, the gentle and soothing voice of Freddie Mercury--but most of all, he fell in love with the lyrics. He believed that he could relate to each and every song written by the band; for every mood that Harry felt, surely enough, there was a Queen song that expressed his feelings for him. 

Hermione had given him a multi-disk compilation of Queen CDs for his birthday, and told him of a spell that would allow him to play the CDs magically without a CD player. This meant that Harry could continue to listen to his favorite music even at Hogwarts, and had done so, to the bafflement of his classmates. Ron would roll his eyes and share a quiet look with Hermione that expressed their mutual concern over Harry's musical obsession. 

"Absolutely nutters," Ron would whisper, shaking his head. 

Seamus, Dean, and Neville likewise failed to figure out how to approach this new side of Harry. Harry was still the same old Harry that they were used to, but now he was known to prance about the dorms lip-syncing Queen lyrics and holding a hairbrush to his face like a microphone. There had been no stopping him. 

Well, there _hadn't_, until one morning in September when Harry lost his favorite Queen CD. The last time he had seen it was at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall at breakfast. After he was sure it was no longer in his bag, he had gone back to check the Great Hall--he had even visited the house elves in the kitchen. One knee-crushing hug from Dobby and a plateful of chocolate éclairs later, he was no closer to finding his lost treasure. And, sadly, Harry had stopped listening to the rest of his CDs with such fervent devotion, instead mourning the loss of his favorite. And, incidentally, the rest of the Gryffindor fifth-year boys' dorm secretly cheered the silence.

* * *

Oh, it was too rich. 

Draco cheerfully headed for his Care of Magical Creatures class, unable to prevent the devious grin from overtaking his face. He had spent the past two weeks "researching" this strange muggle music that Potter had accidentally left in the Great Hall, and now he just _knew_ that he had the perfect resource for taunting the wizarding world's favorite Golden Boy. This was a key to unlocking the mysteries of Potter's soul. Of course, he had also received some small pleasure from knowing that he held in his possession something that Potter undoubtedly cared about. Draco chalked this up to a newfound position of power over his enemy. 

When he first began listening to the "CD"—as Zabini had called it—he had to admit that the music was not as bad as it could have been. In fact, the first song on the disc actually had him tapping his foot before he realized it. The melody and harmony were pleasant enough, and the lyrics were about magic—so it almost made up for the fact that it was a _muggle_ band. 

But then he reached the second song, which the CD jacket had labeled as a "rhapsody". The beginning was soft and soothing, but then all of a sudden the entire song took a hefty dive off the deep end and Draco had no clue what was going on. His only conclusion was that the band had to be totally psychotic, and subsequent song lyrics supported his hypothesis. 

So after some careful study and much jotting down of some of the more peculiar song lyrics, Draco was finally ready to use this against his arch-enemy. After all, if Potter actually enjoyed this bizarre music, then he must be just as mad. And so, he looked forward to a confrontation in class over Potter's odd taste.

* * *

It wasn't the most exciting of Care of Magical Creatures classes, as far as the curriculum was concerned. Hagrid had the students studying a unit on clairvoyant hamsters after he had received some backlash from angry parents for presenting the class with man-eating giant octopi in the lake. No one really knew what to do with the hamsters, though. They were just like regular hamsters, only clairvoyant. On that particular day, Hagrid had given each of them a hamster and told them to try to test its psychic abilities by asking it questions telepathically. 

Harry had wandered off to a patch of grass by himself and was sitting with a hamster in his lap. He tried to think of an appropriate question to ask a clairvoyant hamster, but his mind was completely blank. What sort of questions were they supposed to ask, anyway? And how would he be able to tell if the hamster had heard—or even understood, for that matter—what he was thinking? It was in this state of uncertainty mixed with boredom and growing disinterest that Harry suddenly felt someone approach him from behind. He then heard a familiar drawling voice inches away from his ear. 

"I see a little silhouett-a of a man." 

Harry's eyes widened and he turned around in disbelief. Draco was kneeling on the grass extremely close to him, holding a small white hamster and grinning from ear to ear. He raised his eyebrows innocently. "Tell me, Potter. Will you do the Fandango? Because I'm just dying to know." 

"Malfoy!" he exclaimed, and scooted backwards far enough to put a respectable distance between the two of them. He lowered his voice so only the other boy could hear, not wishing to disrupt Hagrid's class. "Where did you hear that from?" 

Draco held up the furry, white animal in his hand. "When the hamster plants messages inside my head, I listen." 

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "So your hamster has been telling you to listen to Queen?" 

"No, they've been telling me that _you_ listen to the queen." 

Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder if _you're_ not a queen, Malfoy." 

"_Moi_?" Draco either did not understand or chose not to respond to this last comment. Instead, he pulled out the CD from a breast pocket in his robes, enjoying the shocked look of growing comprehension on the other boy's face. He handed it back to its owner ceremoniously. 

"My CD!" Harry exclaimed. His eyes flashed dangerously. "So you _STOLE_ it!" 

"You lost it, and I found it," Draco corrected in his trademark drawl. "Really, I found it quite entertaining," he continued. "I had expected that you might have '_gone slightly mad'_ after the end of last year, but I had no idea that you would _completely_ lose your mind." 

"Why? Because I listen to muggle music?" Harry asked, frowning. 

"Extremely _bad_ muggle music, Potter. I'd say this music has rotted away your brain. What I want to know is whether you think—" Draco pulled out a small piece of paper from his pocket and quickly checked over it. "—Do you think that you're a banana tree?" 

Harry chuckled in spite of himself. "For someone who claims to think it's so awful, you certainly seem to know an awful lot about their lyrics, Malfoy." 

Draco shrugged. "The better to taunt you with, Potter. If it means that I can make your life more of a living hell, I'm willing to assault you with a barrage of the words you so fancy." His face once again resumed its triumphant smirk. "Now, could you please explain to me that part where they say that Beelzebub has a devil put aside for them? Don't worry about explaining about 'thunderbolt and lightning/very very frightening me', though, because if I had to see that ugly scar of yours in the mirror every morning I know I'd be afraid of thunderbolts too. Looking at your face right now is enough to put me off my lunch, and that's saying quite a bit about my powers of digestion." 

Harry frowned again, crossing his arms over his chest. Although the strangeness of hearing his enemy spout Queen lyrics had been amusing him, Draco's sudden switch back to his more traditional insults reminded him that he was supposed to be annoyed. Still, if the other boy wanted to fight in the arena of Queen lyrics, Harry supposed that he could play along. "So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye, Malfoy? Is that what this is all about?" 

"And what? Love you and leave you to die, I suppose? In your dreams, maybe. Then again, that's what your parents did, isn't it? Too bad you didn't have the good sense to die then, and spare us all your tragic life story." 

That was the last straw for Harry. He suddenly realized that he did not want to play this game with Malfoy, even if it meant that someone else in the wizarding world was familiar with his favorite band He was tired of Malfoy's way of constantly trying to push his buttons, and this last little outbreak had tipped the scale of four years' worth of torment. With a frustrated growl, he grabbed Draco by the collar and pulled him close enough to tersely vent, "Then what _IS_ it with you, Malfoy?! Ever since first year, you've been hounding me and insulting my parents and my friends, then stealing my stuff just so you can go to great lengths to show off just how much of a total bastard you are. Why can't you just leave me the fuck alone!!??" 

Draco looked down at the hand holding him by the collar and the corners of his mouth turned up into a sly, wicked smirk. His plan of getting under Harry's skin had worked beautifully. Now that he had the Golden Boy so worked up, it was time to bring him crashing back down to reality. "Because you stole something very precious to me, Potter." 

"I stole something from you?" Harry seethed, still livid. "What on earth have I ever taken from you?" 

"My thunder." 

Harry certainly was not expecting this answer, and blinked in confusion. His grasp loosened on Draco's collar. "Your _thunder_?" 

"Do you remember that day on the train our first year, Potter? When I offered you my hand in friendship? Do you remember how you snubbed it?" 

"I remember you snubbing my friend Ron before I snubbed you, Malfoy." 

Draco sneered in contempt. He was terribly good at it, after all. "I was supposed to be the most popular boy at Hogwarts, Potter. With my looks, pedigree, brains, and charisma, I had everything going for me. If you had become my friend, we could have ruled this school. But no, you had to make friends with that _Weasley_ instead of me. And everyone thinks you're _so_ wonderful," he continued bitterly, an icy edge coming over his voice. "And you never lose at Quidditch, and everyone kisses the ground you walk on, just because you're Harry fucking Potter and you have a damned scar on your head." This was not entirely heading in the direction that Draco had intended, but now that he had started there was no turning back. He wanted the other boy to understand just what he had done to him. 

"That's not true, Malfoy," Harry muttered, letting go of Draco's collar. He edged away from him in the grass. Both of their hamsters had wandered off toward where the rest of the class was grouped.

"I made a promise to myself," Draco continued. His eyes pierced Harry's and glittered with malice as he slithered across the grass and stopped with his face mere inches away from the Gryffindor's. "You may have turned me down, but you'll never be free from me. I promised myself that I would be a part of your life, even if I have to make it a living hell. No one turns me down and gets away with it. I will always be the thorn in your side, Potter. No matter where you go, or how happy you think you are, I will be there, ready to tear it all down before your eyes." Draco's heart was in his throat. What a feeling of triumph he felt in saying these words to Potter! He could see his enemy tremble under the force of his hatred, and the image enthralled him. He would certainly have to remember this moment for a very long time. 

Harry indeed shivered involuntarily from the coldness of Draco's words. He had never imagined that this other person could feel so passionately about something that seemed to be of so little importance. At least, that's how _he_ felt about his own success. Why should Malfoy really care one way or the other about what he did? Harry's fierce gaze never wavered from his eyes, however, and he was so engrossed in facing off against Draco's hostile bitterness that he failed to see Ron, Hermione, Crabbe, and Goyle approaching them. Draco noticed them out of the corner of his eye, and stood up, dusting off his robes. 

"Well, then, Potter," he said, his voice resuming its normal sneer of nonchalant superiority. "I think you've had enough taunting for today. Until next time!" he tossed his hand in a casual goodbye gesture and left behind a bewildered Harry Potter just as Ron and Hermione reached them, regrouping with Crabbe and Goyle first. He whispered something to them that the Gryffindors could not hear, and the Slytherin trio burst into gruesome laughter as they looked back at the other three. 

"Absolutely nutters," Ron said, shaking his head. "What was that all about, anyway?" 

* * *

Many years later, Padma Patil would still deny the idea that she could ever have made a lasting impression on a Slytherin on that particular autumn afternoon. She rarely gave any of them much thought, to be honest. It wasn't that she was stuck up or particularly snobbish, but she had her own circle of friends, and she knew how to entertain herself. Mostly, though, she was a quiet girl who preferred to listen to the interesting conversations of other people. Being in Ravenclaw, that was not very hard to come across. Most students in Ravenclaw were very interesting to talk to and many of them were quite brilliant conversationalists. So when the Ravenclaws had Herbology with the Slytherins, she never partnered up with any of her Slytherin classmates if she could help it. 

Much in the same way, Professor Sprout avoided being in a bad mood whenever she could help it. Most of the time she showed the world a pleasant, easy-going demeanor, and reserved her dark looks only for the most particularly annoying individuals like Gilderoy Lockhart. Of course, this might partially explain why Draco Malfoy never seemed to get on her good side. Today, unfortunately, she happened to be in one of her bad moods—which were pretty rare, but they never boded well for the class as a whole nonetheless. 

"All right, class," she addressed them, hands on her hips, "Everyone needs to pick up a bucket from the wall on the far side of the greenhouse and come back here to these snozberry bushes. You will work three to a bush for the remainder of the class and collect as many snozberries as you can in that time." 

"_SNOZ_berries?!" Draco interjected unwisely. "Whoever heard of--" 

"DON'T start with me today, Mr. Malfoy," Sprout seethed warningly down at him with thin, beady eyes. Draco shut his mouth. The rest of the class took that as a cue that Professor Sprout was not in the mood to put up with any smarmy attitude, and quietly hurried to collect their buckets and set to work picking snozberries, whatever they were. 

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle grouped around one of the bushes. A small bag of snacks fell out of Goyle's backpack as he set it down on the floor, and Sprout pounced upon them. 

"Mr. Goyle, I do not tolerate outside food in my greenhouse," she informed him, and snatched up the snack food before he could stuff it back into his bag. "Five points from Slytherin." Goyle looked hurt and confused. Draco caught his eye and mouthed a word that summed up his opinion of Professor Sprout. Luckily, she failed to notice this exchange. 

"I think it's time to break up the Triumvirate today," she announced, and before Draco could open his mouth to protest she had grabbed him by the arm and ushered him over to another bush next to Lisa Turpin, Mandy Brocklehurst, and Padma Patil. She then pushed Padma over to the bush with Crabbe and Goyle. "That should keep you fairly quiet," she decided, and marched back to her office. Draco rolled his eyes. 

"Geez, what's gotten into _her_ today, I wonder?" Lisa asked. "I mean, she's usually nicer than this." 

Draco chuckled. "She must be overdue for her fix of 'special' herbs." He smirked. "After that and Goyle's junk food, I'm sure she'll be back to her usual slumpy self again." Mandy giggled. 

Draco was still riding high on his triumph over Harry Potter earlier that day, and not even Professor Sprout could sour his good mood. It had felt so _wonderful_ to put down Potter like that! At least, that's how Draco remembered it, and Potter had seemed adequately humbled by Draco's declaration of life-long revenge. Well, as far as he was concerned, Potter was just going to have to learn to put up with it, because there was no way that Draco was going to back away from it now. He grinned to himself as he picked snozberries off of his side of the bush, tuning out the murmured conversation between the two Ravenclaw girls. 

"Say, Draco?" Mandy Brocklehurst looked over the top of the bush at him, snagging him out of his pleasant fog of Potter-filled thoughts. He snapped his head up and raised an eyebrow, not expecting anyone besides Pansy Parkinson to address him by his first name. 

"We heard you got into a fight with Harry Potter this morning in Care of Magical Creatures," Mandy asked, phrasing it more like a statement than an actual question. "Terry Boot said at lunch that he heard it from Justin Finch-Fletchley who heard it from Dean Thomas, who saw Harry Potter grab your robes in class." 

Draco's face was a mask of aristocratic virtue. "There was no fight, _per se_," he informed them, dropping snozberries into his bucket. "Words were exchanged, and since I had the upper hand, Potter couldn't help but take his anger out on my robes." He smirked. "He is a rather abusive git when it comes to clothing, isn't he?" He smoothed out the front of his robes, which were still slightly creased where Harry's fingers had curled around them. 

Mandy and Lisa looked at him. "You're an interesting person, you know that?" Lisa said, going back to picking berries. 

"Yeah, we've always thought so," Mandy agreed. "You're a fun person to study, and we try to guess why you do some of the things you do. You've sort of been our project for a while now," she told him, then turned her head away as she blushed. Draco stared intently into the snozberry bush, unsure where this conversation was headed and not at all convinced that he wanted to know, either. Mandy Brocklehurst and Lisa Turpin were not exactly in the 'in crowd' at Hogwarts and as they usually kept to themselves most of the time, he had no interest in them. Nor had he had any indication that these girls had been _studying_ him, and the thought was more than just a little alarming. 

"Anyway, we think we've figured you out," Lisa continued, "and even though you're unpopular with the rest of the school, we know why you act that way and we want you to know that—" 

"I'm unpopular?" Draco asked in disbelief, interrupting her. A snozberry twig snapped in his grasp and fell awkwardly into his bucket. 

"Duh," Mandy replied into the snozberry bush. Seeing the undisguised look of shock on Draco's face, she immediately softened her expression. "Oh, don't worry, _we_ still like you. That's what we're trying to say," she explained, as if this changed everything. 

"That's right!" Lisa chirped. "And we're here to cheer you on, even when no one else is." 

"What do you mean, I'm unpopular?" Draco frowned, fixing his deadly gaze on the two of them. 

* * *

Meanwhile, at the other bush Crabbe, Goyle, and Padma were collecting berries in deafening silence. Padma sighed. 

"This is a stunningly thought-provoking conversation," she commented sarcastically, dropping a small handful of snozberries into her bucket. Crabbe and Goyle looked at her. 

"Huh?" Crabbe asked. Padma raised her eyebrow at them. 

"What do you two usually talk about? Have you read any good books lately? Have you done anything interesting?" 

Goyle snickered. "Malfoy pissed off Potter this morning," he told her. 

Padma rolled her eyes. "Good lord! Now there's something you can take credit for! Now tell me about something that _you've_ done." 

Crabbe and Goyle turned to each other and blinked. Something they had done that was not connected to Malfoy and his schemes to annoy Potter? 

"Um, well…" Crabbe began hesitantly, but trailed off when he had no idea what to say next. 

"That's what I thought," Padma answered coolly. "You two don't ever think for yourselves, do you? Oh well, it was worth a try, but never mind now." She sighed in a display of put-upon boredom and resumed her berry-picking. "It's just that it's such a good waste of a class period where you can stand around and talk to people all hour without getting into trouble for it. It's not like you can have conversations in the middle of Potions or Transfiguration, you know. It's too bad that Professor Sprout has to be in such a bad mood today, or else I could be discussing really interesting and intelligent topics with other Ravenclaws right now." 

Crabbe and Goyle blinked at each other in uncertainty. After a moment Goyle leaned in to Crabbe and whispered so that only his friend could hear. "You know, I could be wrong on this one, but," he glanced at Padma, who was ignoring them in favor of picking berries, "I kind of get the impression that she thinks we're…well, _stupid_." 

Crabbe's eyes widened and a soft expression of doubt overcame his face. "But what would make her think that?" he whispered back. 

Goyle shrugged. "We'd better prove her wrong and think of something dreadfully intelligent to talk about," he decided. 

Crabbe nodded. "Right," he agreed, and the two of them proceeded to collect snozberries as they wondered what subject they could discuss that would make them sound particularly smart. 

The rest of the class period passed by for all three of them in gloomy and uninterrupted quietude.

* * *

While Crabbe and Goyle were busy thinking of clever conversation topics, Draco was busy wishing for silence. He was still struggling to get over the idea that anyone could find him--_THE_ Draco Malfoy, of all people—unpopular. 

"It's because you're so mean," Mandy had explained. "Always picking on Harry Potter like that! He's had it rough, you know," she informed him, as if this was something Draco had not been aware of. He snorted. "And Cedric Diggory," she added, "I don't think any of the Hufflepuffs have forgiven you yet for what you said about him last year on the train. Word gets around, you know." 

"Exactly," Lisa chimed in. "Most people don't see why you would attack him like that, especially when you were supporting him in the Triwizard Tournament so…well, _adamantly_." She dropped a few berries in her bucket. 

"Though there are some theories going around about that—well, about you supporting Cedric just to piss off Harry," Mandy added, "and of course a lot of people are going to get weirded out by your strange obsession with him, but some of us are not total homophobes and we have a soft spot for gay men." Here Mandy blushed again, lowering her head and returning her attention to the berries she was supposed to be harvesting. 

Lisa grinned. "Yeah, even if you're going about it all the wrong way, it's still cute to watch." 

Draco, who had been concentrating on ignoring the lecture he was receiving from two girls he barely even knew, suddenly caught on to what they were saying. To say that his face reddened would be an overstatement, because Malfoys never held enough color to turn visibly red. More accurate would be to state that he "pinkened"—in an incredibly bright, vivid pink that was normally reserved for only those special remarks that could seriously upset the otherwise indifferent Malfoys. He had been crouched low to the ground to collect berries from the bottom portion of the bush, but suddenly sprung up to his full height and peered down at Lisa Turpin with his most deadly, seething glare—a glare designed to scare the average person out of his or her mortal coil. Thin pink scratches lined his face from where he had brushed against the snozberry thorns in his sudden movement, and his nostrils twitched so violently that one could almost see invisible trails of smoke billowing out and curling up around his face. 

"WHAT…DID…YOU…SAY?????!!!!!!" 

"Mr. Malfoy!" Professor sprout called from the other side of her office door. Those standing close enough could see the real trails of smoke drifting from her office, followed by the subtle scent of her "special herbs". "Ten points from Slytherin for your lack of decorum in my classroom. And if I hear any more outbreaks from you, I'll make it fifty!" 

Lisa looked up at him, nonplussed. "See? Even Professor Sprout doesn't like you, and she likes everybody," she said calmly. 

Draco exhaled sharply and crouched down close to Lisa and Mandy and lowered his voice to a level that Sprout would not be able to hear. 

"For your information, I am not_ gay_!!!" 

"Mm-hm," Lisa replied absently, examining a snozberry on the branch to check if it was fully ripe. 

"And my relationship with Potter is one of hatred. Mutual hatred, only hatred, and that's it! I hate him, and he hates me, got it?" 

To his horror, Mandy Brocklehurst actually _giggled_. "This message has been brought to you by the Department of Redundancy Department," she said. Lisa giggled at that, too. "You're like a boy who pulls on the pigtails of the girl he likes," Mandy explained. 

Lisa nodded. "Only it's not a girl, but Harry Potter," she added, "and instead of pulling on his pigtails (because he hasn't got any, of course), you, say, dress up like a dementor, for example." 

Draco huffed and returned to his own side of the bush in annoyance. "That's not how it is at all," he protested—though quietly, as he did not want to summon Sprout's anger again. He glanced dispiritedly at his bare wrist and cursed his morning's decision that a watch didn't go with the outfit he was wearing. Oh, when oh when would this horrid class period be over? 

"Though it's a shame," Mandy digressed, "that Harry can't see what's really going on. And all these times that Draco tries to get the better of him or beat him at quidditch, he always fails!" 

"You do know what that means, don't you?" Lisa asked Mandy. "Draco here…is an UNDERDOG!" 

"I'd thank you not to refer to me as any kind of dog, if you don't mind," Draco mumbled feebly into the bush, but was ignored. He had given up on making any more bold efforts to contradict them, and they seemed to have disregarded his protests altogether in favor of their own discourse. 

"Yes," Mandy agreed, "he's just like Charlie Brown, except different." 

The two girls laughed at their little joke, which Draco completely failed to understand. Instead, he rolled his eyes and went back to picking snozberries. He mumbled to himself under his breath, "I am not gay, I'm not a dog, and I'm not any kind of brown Charlie." 

"Tell you what," Mandy told him, getting his attention by reaching over and placing her hand on his arm. "The next time Slytherin plays against anybody other than Ravenclaw, we'll cheer you on." She grinned energetically. 

"Ooh, yes!" Lisa exclaimed. "We should make a banner, too---just for Draco!" 

"Of course, we do have to root for our own team, especially for Cho," Mandy explained. 

"Yes of course—poor Cho, she's had a hard time too." Lisa sighed dreamily. "Who needs to pay attention to the actual game when there are all these romantic _seeker dramas_ to follow!" 

Mandy giggled. Just then, Professor Sprout reemerged from her office looking considerably more relaxed and carrying a faint herbal smell on her robes. "All right class, it's time to clean up," she informed them, "Pour the berries you have collected into that bin by the back wall, rinse out your buckets and stack them in the corner, and then you may leave. 

"Thank God!" Draco voiced under his breath, and a minute later he had cleaned up and met with Crabbe and Goyle outside the greenhouse. The three of them walked solemnly back up to the castle. Finally Draco was the one to break the stiff silence. 

"I hate Ravenclaws," he spat. Crabbe and Goyle nodded, mumbling their agreement. 

Then Goyle stopped and remembered something. "Umm, Malfoy?" He asked tentatively. "Would you say that Crabbe and I are…umm…stupid?" 

End of Chapter 2

* * *

MCF: Poor guys! Tee hee! ^_^ I'm really not trying to dumb down Draco, but with his pureblood upbringing you really can't expect him to know who Charlie Brown is, and I'm afraid some of the other comments were lost on him, too. Crabbe and Goyle might begin to seem OOC, but I really don't think they're quite as dumb as most people give them credit for, either. Blaise fans do not be alarmed: he's going to come back in the next chapter, don't you worry! 

The Queen lyrics quoted above are from "Bohemian Rhapsody", "I'm Going Slightly Mad", and "Stone Cold Crazy". I really am a Queen fan! It's just that I can't imagine Draco being able to fully appreciate that kind of music. ^_~ the other references were to Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (the snozberries), Peanuts (Charlie Brown). I hope that was all of them. 

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! And now for the Malicious Play…

* * *

**~~~Harry Potter and the Malicious Play, Part II~~~**

Flashing back to the resurrection of Voldemort at the end of _Goblet of Fire_… 

"…And none of this could have happened without the help of young Potter here," Voldemort was explaining to the Death Eaters. Voldemort stood in the center of their circle, next to where Harry was tied to the gravestone. 

"Wormtail would have had me use any boy's blood, but just see what I can do now," he continued, and touched Harry's cheek. "See? His mother's protection is in my blood now, and so I can touch him without damaging myself. So now, I can do _THIS!" _

Voldemort put his hand on Harry's forehead, right over his scar. When he pulled the hand away, Harry was wearing a large sticker on his forehead that read: 

**Be Nice to Me **

**^_________^ **

**I Gave Blood Today!**

"Right then," the Dark Lord said, untying Harry's ropes with a wave of his hand. "Do try not to lift anything heavy or consume alcohol over the next several hours," he advised him. He turned to where Wormtail was still curled up on the ground, whimpering over the loss of his hand. 

"Wormtail! Get this boy some cookies and a cup of orange juice! 

You don't have to review this fic, but it certainly would fill my little heart with joy and inspire me to keep writing more if you did! 

~~My Cat Frank ^_^


	3. The Joy in Mudville

**The Slytherin Renaissance **

**By My Cat Frank**

Ok, so I haven't written in a while...LMy schedule has been rather full...but now I realize that I need to hurry up and write this fic before the fifth book comes out!Guess I work better with a deadline...^_~

Disclaimer:Harry Potter and all associated characters and universe belong to J. K. Rowling and her people; I am making zippo off of this fic and so there is no reason to come after me with guns, knives, pitchforks and/or other implements of destruction.That is, unless that just happens to be your one joy in life.If it is, how sad for you, I'm sorry.The title of this chapter is a reference to the poem _Casey at the Bat by Ernest L. Thayer.Other references: __How To Win Friends and Influence People: Dale Carnegie; __The Prince:Machiavelli; __The Red Wheelbarrow:William Carlos Williams; __The Communist Manifesto:Karl Marx and Frederick Engels."Brown Charlie": see Chapter 2.And a prize will be granted to anyone who spots the __Odd Couple reference in this chapter!_

Warnings:Rated PG-13 for some steamier bits of slash, intellectual humor, and monkey abuse.Language?Maybe.

Big bear hugs go to: Sheron, reila robyn, Vee-sempai, celestinne, Adia, JadeDragon, Kaylin, FatalDreams, Catspook, Rosetta, Iris, bluemeanies and surreal1. Thanks for reviewing this fic so far! ^___^

**Chapter 3:The Joy in Mudville**

Summary: New resolutions, a slashy dream, muggle intellectualism, and trouble at the quidditch game all mean that Draco has a bad day.

This chapter's Malicious Play is titled "Narcissa Malfoy's Crafty Corner."...Or should that be "Krafty Korner?"

* * *

Crabbe and Goyle decided it was high time they do something to change their images.Padma Patil, as crazy as it may have sounded, might have had a point when she said they did not make interesting conversationalists.That is, Crabbe and Goyle were willing to admit that they had not always been considered the brightest of the bright in Hogwarts intellectual history.Ravenclaws, on the other hand, were well noted for their intellectualism.And if they--as represented by Padma Patil when Crabbe and Goyle had shared a bush with her in Herbology--believed that Malfoy's sidekick duo lacked intellectual strength, well, something needed to be done.Crabbe and Goyle abhorred the idea of _anyone thinking that they were weak, physically or mentally._

So, images needed adjustment.That is how they came to find themselves examining the bookshelves of the Slytherin common room.Since both of them had come to grips with the fact that they just weren't as good at the magical arts as most other students at the school, they had agreed that the quickest and easiest way to show off their intelligence was to start reading non-magical books.At least, from their perspective, they would be _reading, and they merely needed to __appear like they were studying something important in order to give off the impression that they were smart, intelligent people.Besides, as Crabbe put it, "How hard can __muggle books be, anyway?They were written by __muggles!"_

Unfortunately, as they were rifling through the common room bookshelves, they found out that the Slytherin dorms only boasted two non-magical book titles:

"_How to Win Friends and Influence People," Crabbe read, squinting at the book cover.He held up the other book."And __The Prince, by some guy named Machiavelli."_

Goyle frowned."Oh, is that all?I've already read both of those."

"What?No, you haven't!"

Goyle shrugged."I got bored once, so I kinda thumbed through them," he admitted.

Crabbe flipped through a few pages of _The Prince."Anything worth reading?"_

"Ehhh," Goyle shrugged disinterestedly."Just do what you got to do to get ahead and tell other people what to do.Nothing we haven't already heard," he said.

Crabbe shut the book, sticking out his tongue in distaste.He looked over his shoulder to make sure that no one else in the Common room was paying attention to them, and leaned closer to Goyle so that only he could hear."If we're going to look intelligent, we're going to have to read something no one else knows about.Goyle," he looked his friend in the eye, firming his resolve."I think we're going to have to go to the library."

* * *

Half an hour later found Crabbe and Goyle in the non-magical section of the Hogwarts library, looking for easy-to-read books that would allow them to flaunt their intelligence around the school.Crabbe finally settled on a book filled with short, seemingly-manageable poems.He showed it to Goyle.

"_An Anthology of Modern Poetry," he told him."I'm going to read this one.They're just little poems, so it should be a quick read."_

Goyle grinned and held up a small, thin paperback book."Oh yeah?How's this for a quick read, eh?"

Crabbe frowned."That's not the point, remember?Why read something so short and small that no one notices that you're reading it?"He read the cover title."_The Communist Manifesto?"_

Goyle shrugged again."So if I finish it early, I'll just move on to something else.No big deal," he decided.

The two of them checked out the books and headed back to the Slytherin common room, where they spent the evening sitting in public view of their housemates and reading their chosen literature.

* * *

Meanwhile, up in the Gryffindor common room, Harry Potter was sitting upside down in a large overstuffed armchair by the fireplace and staring off into space. He swished his feet back and forth over the top of the chair, feeling the blood rush to his head.

"You okay there, mate?" Ron asked from the large table where he was still working on his Divinations homework.

"Have you ever noticed how funny the world looks upside down?" Harry replied as he watched a second-year walk across the ceiling and climb up the descending stairs with the grace of a character in an M. C. Escher sketch. "I mean," he continued, "It's a whole different perspective on things."

"Er, yeah, sure, Harry," Ron answered, and made a face at Hermione who was sitting across the table from him.The gist of his expression basically said, "Look, Harry's our mate, but sometimes I think he's just a tad _wacko!"Hermione just shrugged and went back to her Arithmancy assignment._

Harry really didn't care what anyone thought about him for sitting upside down in a chair.Actually, his thoughts were focused instead on what Malfoy had said to him a few days before when they were in Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures class:

_"I promised myself that I would be a part of your life, even if I have to make it a living hell.No one turns me down and gets away with it.I will always be the thorn in your side, Potter.No matter where you go, or how happy you think you are, I will be there, ready to tear it all down before your eyes."_

The words had left him feeling cold, but he hadn't been able to stop thinking about them. Did it really mean that much to Malfoy? Could he really want to be a part of Harry's life that badly? Well, if that was the case, then there was nothing Harry could do about it...right?

Suddenly he was hit with a revelation. If Malfoy was so bound and determined to be close to Harry, maybe they didn't have to be enemies. If Harry had accepted his hand on the train when they were in first year, then Malfoy would have been a part of his life and they would have been friends, wouldn't they? So...maybe if he offered to bury the hatchet and make friends with Malfoy, then Malfoy would be satisfied and stop taunting Harry and his friends. And if Harry and Malfoy were friends, then wouldn't that be even better in the fight against Voldemort and the Death Eaters?If he played his cards right, that could work...couldn't it?

He slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand with newfound determination and rolled out of the chair. "That's it!" he said aloud once he was standing rightside up again, "I've got to make friends with Malfoy!"With that, he rushed up to the fifth-year boys' dorm to work out what he was going to say to Malfoy in the morning.

Ron blinked and looked at Hermione again. He whispered, "See, this is what happens when you do your thinking upside down."

* * *

_Draco faced Potter on the quidditch pitch.Their gazes locked onto each other, hard and piercing, neither willing to be the first to look away.Draco stepped closer until he was within arm's reach of the Gryffindor seeker. _

_Without dropping eye contact, he raised his hands to his opponent's shoulders and began to run them over the muscles there.His fingers traced over Potter's collar bone, up his neck, then back down the shoulders and arms, brushing the fingertips before returning to his torso.Soon Potter's fingers were gliding over Draco's back. _

_The two of them were touching each other.There were no words, no emotions, just the physical sensation of hands touching bodies.Draco's hands wandered up and down and across Potter's chest and stomach, along his sides and on his hips, feeling the muscle and bone hidden under clothing. _

_Then at some point the clothing disappeared and they were touching each other flesh to flesh.The hands continued to roam, finding new places and new sensations.Somehow they stopped standing and Draco was lying on top of Potter, his hands searching down, down... _

_He lifted Potter's legs to either side of his head and nuzzled against his ankles.Why was he lingering there?The ankles ceased to be interesting and Draco inched himself up along the insides of Potter's legs, licking and nibbling a trail up to the knees, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of Potter's inner thighs before continuing up, up... _

_Potter bit his lower lip and squirmed, an involuntary moan escaping his lips.He was writhing beneath Draco, bucking his hips closer to Draco's mouth, and Draco was still working his way up Potter's legs, nibbling, sucking, licking, reaching ever closer to that hot center of warmth waiting for him, up, up, and Potter was gasping in shallow breaths, and Draco could feel his own breath hitch as he looked down at what was waiting for him, and then...and then... _

And then Draco woke up, gasping for breath, a thin line of sweat rolling down his forehead as he sat up in bed.He'd had a _sex dream about—well, he couldn't even bring himself to think the name inside his head.Where had that __come from?!_

The truth was that ever since that Herbology class when he had talked with those Ravenclaw girls, his mind had started to betray him with these wild, crazy notions.Apparently, he wasn't even free from his thoughts when he was asleep now.He was also too painfully aware of another traitorous part of his body that still wanted to keep going where the dream left off.

_NO, he told himself firmly, he was __not going to do __that.He practically leaped out of bed and bolted for the showers, sighing in relief as the shock of cold water took his mind off of...things.That particular day was going to be a big day, and it wouldn't do to have his subconscious go around mucking it up, no sir._

It was the day of Slytherin's Quidditch game against the Gryffindors.There was just something that Draco couldn't explain about why he loved playing against the Gryffindors more than the other Hogwarts Quidditch teams.Maybe it was because the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff teams were just too easy to beat.Maybe it was the ongoing heated drama between Gryffindor and Slytherin houses that drove him to work harder as the team seeker and captain.Maybe it was the sight of Potter on his broomstick, looking like some kind of wonderful fey creature...

No, no, _no, it __definitely was not that.He frowned as he got dressed, remembering what those obnoxious Ravenclaws—what were their names again?Lisa Turpin and Mandy Brocklehurst?Weird girls, Draco thought.Anyway, what they had had to say the other day about his attitude towards Potter was flat-out untrue.As far as Draco was concerned, there was nothing wrong with having a hated enemy.And that's all it was: hatred, pure and simple.Potter was nothing more than a stuck-up, prissy asshole that everyone loved because he could defeat the Dark Lord, his cute oversized glasses and shaggy hair be damned._

Not that Draco thought that anything about Potter was cute, of course.No, it was intriguing in one of those sick, undeniable fascinations, but certainly not cute.And he was _definitely not like some kind of wonderful fey creature.Those sick Ravenclaw girls and their twisted imaginations would come to a sticky end, Draco decided._

And so he hyped himself up for the big game, planning out battle strategies and ways of making Potter squirm on the Quidditch pitch.After a while, Draco had completely forgotten about those weird thoughts concerning Potter and focused instead on his own coolness.He may have started the day on the wrong foot with that odd dream, but he was graceful and determined to have a good, successful day in spite of it.Yes, Draco Malfoy was _very cool, __very collected, and __very stylin'.He was also very hungry.It was time to head down to breakfast, but he would need to do it in style.He noticed that Crabbe and Goyle were not in bed—or in the dorm, for that matter—and headed down, assuming that they were in the common room waiting for him._

With a confident grin on his face, he entered the common room, feeling like a million galleons and ready to show off.He sauntered across the room with cool grace and snapped his fingers as he passed the chairs where Crabbe and Goyle were sitting with books in their laps.He expected them to jump to his side to the beat of the snappy tune that was going through his mind at the time, and all three of them would then stride across the castle to the Great Hall, leaving an air of power and confidence in their wake._That would show those nasty Gryffindors what Slytherins were made of._

Draco had made it as far as the common room door, however, when he noticed that Crabbe and Goyle had not yet jumped to his side.He turned around.In fact, those two were still sitting in the same chairs, immersed in whatever it was they were reading.Draco cleared his throat, thinking that would get their attention.

When that too failed, Draco sighed and went back to where they were sitting.Crabbe was staring into a book with a frustrated look on his face.In actuality, he was about ready to start tearing his hair out, already tugging on the hair at his temples.Goyle looked equally floored, his gaze locked into a book like a deer in headlights.

Draco kneeled beside Crabbe's chair."Umm, Crabbe?"

"_'So much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens'," Crabbe finally spoke cryptically._

Whatever Draco had been expecting, this was not it."Come again?"

" '_So much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens'."Crabbe looked up at Draco, his eyes desperate."But __what?__WHAT depends on it?!"_

Draco shook his head, not understanding anything that Crabbe was talking about.

"It's this poem," Crabbe finally explained, slowly emerging from his trance."I can't figure out what it's supposed to mean."He showed the book to Draco, who read the page, then the previous page, then the page after it.

"Where's the rest of it?" he asked, frowning.

"That's it," Crabbe said." '_So much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens'."He started to laugh, like someone finally cracking under a lot of pressure.Draco edged away from him apprehensively, in case Crabbe might start foaming at the mouth or try to hex the entire room._

"So you want to know what depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside some stupid-arse chickens?"

Suddenly a light went on inside Crabbe's head." '_So much'," he said, answering his own question.He laughed again, and this time it sounded less psychotic and more punch-drunk."So much!That's it:'__So much'!!"He giggled madly."I love it!"_

Draco stared, his jaw dropping in surprise.Not knowing what to say, he turned his attention to Goyle.Goyle looked like his world was coming to an end.He stared back at Draco with confused, heavy-lidded eyes and shook his head miserably.

Then Draco remembered the undisturbed appearance of their beds upstairs and realized what had happened.He rounded on his sidekicks.

"Do you mean to tell me that you both stayed up all night with those stupid books?!" he seethed.Crabbe stopped laughing and looked sheepish instead."Don't you remember we've got a game today?Against _Gryffindor!"He growled, raising his voice."I can't believe you two!Our most important game of the playoffs, and my beaters are up all night reading—" he spat, as if the words would make him ill, "—__muggle literature."Crabbe and Goyle looked at their feet, unsure what to say."Well, you had better be awake by the time the game starts, that's all I have to say.I'm going to breakfast," he huffed, and stormed out of the common room._

A minute passed in silence before Crabbe turned to Goyle."Well, it could have gone a lot worse than that, I suppose," he stated.

Goyle shrugged, unable to respond.He seemed to do an awful lot of shrugging lately.

* * *

So Draco wasn't in the best of moods as he stomped up to the Great Hall for breakfast.Here he was, the great Draco Malfoy, and on this important day of days to show off Slytherin superiority, his sidekicks had apparently jumped off the deep end.What's worse, they had both done it together—leaving him out of the loop and forcing him to walk alone in the hallways like a _common student.Still, he tried to look like his usual composed self and act like he was still on top of the world, playing that same snappy tune inside his head again.He was just about to put his hand on the door handle to the Great Hall and go inside when he heard a voice from behind calling him._

"Malfoy!Hey, Malfoy!"

Harry Potter ran into the entrance hall when he caught sight of Malfoy.This was just the opportunity he wanted--a chance to talk to Malfoy without his goons flanking him!He hadn't expected to catch him alone like this quite this soon into his plan, but, well, Harry wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.As far as he was concerned, the sooner he became friends with Malfoy, the sooner peace would come between them and their friends.

Draco stopped and turned around.He saw Potter run right up to him and then stop to catch his breath.Harry missed the grimace that immediately formed on Draco's face.Of all the people Draco _didn't want to talk to before breakfast..._

"Oh, it's _you.What do you want, Potter?Are you ready to forfeit today's match?You know you'll never be able to beat us," he sneered.He was quite accomplished at sneering and flaunted this skill in front of Potter to the best of his sneering ability._

Harry looked confused for a moment."Oh, the _match!" he slapped his forehead as he remembered the quidditch game that would take place that afternoon."No, this has nothing to do with that," he told him._

"Well, then?" Draco prompted, still sneering.He folded his arms over his chest.

Harry then did something Draco never would have expected: he smiled—a warm, genuine smile—and held out his hand.

"I want to end this hostility between us," he announced with the air of a diplomat attempting to bring peace to the Middle East."Malfoy, will you be my friend?"

Draco stared at him as if he had just grown two extra heads."_What?!" _

"Look, I know we haven't exactly gotten along in the past, but I've been thinking about what you said a few weeks ago, and I don't think it's healthy for either of us.So I think it's time that you and I bury the hatchet."To reaffirm his point, he waved his hand, which was still hanging in the air between them, waiting for Draco to shake it.

For some reason Draco suddenly felt like the floor had given way beneath him.This couldn't really be happening, could it?Did Potter really mean to instigate _change?_

"What? You think you can just _end this?" he hissed._

Harry looked surprised."Er—why not?"Other students were filing past them into the Great Hall for breakfast, but a few were beginning to form a circle around them in the entrance hall, sensing the onslaught of a fight.

"Because this would end everything that exists between us!"

"Well, yeah..." Harry agreed, thinking Malfoy had just stated the obvious.

"That is so like you, Potter," Draco spat, "you think you can just wave your hand and make everything change?"He knew that maybe Potter had good intentions, but this was not the time for Draco to think about his relationship with the famous Golden Boy."What would happen if I said yes?What do you get out of it?What do _I get out of it?"_

Harry pulled his hand back from where he was holding it out as an offering.Instead he moved his hands to his hips and frowned back at Malfoy."You want conditions?Fine.If you agree to be friends with me, then I'll be nice to you and your friends.And in exchange you would agree to be nice to me and my friends.And, erm, we could still spend time together, only we'd be doing it as friends and not fighting all the time."

The students forming a circle around them began to whisper to each other, but neither Harry nor Draco took notice.

Draco laughed.It was a bitter, harsh sound."'Nice'?You think we could be nice to each other, Potter?Do you really believe that you can change the way I feel about you?"

"Look Malfoy, can't we just be friends?"Harry was beginning to think that he had been wrong to attempt to make peace with the Slytherin, but he still had another card to play.He pulled a small, thin box out from a pocket inside his robes."As a token of friendship, I made you a gift."

Draco raised his eyebrow, sneered, and snatched the package from Potter's extended hand.He roughly tore off the lid and looked inside.

"I transfigured a CD with a mix of my favorite Queen songs," Harry explained, "I thought we could listen to it together."He felt an odd mixture of pride and—surprisingly enough—bashfulness as he said this to Malfoy.Why he felt this way, he wouldn't have been able to say.A major part of him still felt very strange for making such a gift to his greatest rival—and a muggle-themed gift, at that!But after hearing Malfoy recite Queen lyrics in their Care of Magical Creatures class, Harry had found another wizard who had at least paid attention and showed an interest in Harry's favorite band.And something about that left a semi-warm-and-fuzzy feeling inside him.

Draco only frowned more.Something was beginning to boil inside of him now, and he wasn't sure why.Potter was really patronizing him, he decided."So you really do think that the whole world revolves around you, don't you?" he asked quietly."You think that you can just march up here, destroy everything between us, and offer me this consolation prize?" he went on, his voice raising higher, "Do you think I'll do whatever you say because you're the Great Harry Potter?"He remembered something the Ravenclaw girls had called him a few weeks ago."Do you think I'm just some kind of...some kind of _Brown Charlie?!"._

Harry had no idea what this meant. But since there were an awful lot of cultural references in the wizarding world that he was totally clueless about, he chalked this up to being one of them. Still, he would have been damned if he let Draco know that.

He pushed his glasses up on his nose and put his hands on his hips. "You're such a snob, Malfoy."He frowned at him."Do you realize how hard it is to transfigure a CD?Especially when you do it track-by-track as opposed to simply copying a whole CD?I was up half the night!"

"You don't say?"Draco took the CD out of its jewel case and flung it at the stone wall like a discus.It bounced off and rolled back to his feet, where he caught it under his shoe and cracked it in half. "Well, now it's _garbage."_

Harry's face turned several different colors as he glared angrily at Malfoy.Just then he felt like launching himself at the Slytherin and tearing his face off with his bare hands.When he finally brought his temper back under control, he spoke coldly."I should have known this would have happened, Malfoy.Is this the thanks I get for deciding to open up to you?Well then, forget I ever thought about it."He brushed past Malfoy to the doors to the Great Hall, then turned around."You know something?I thought I could reach below that cold exterior of yours and touch your heart, but I was wrong._You have no heart, Malfoy."With that, he stiffly swung open the door and huffed away to the Gryffindor table, leaving Draco standing in the entrance hall surrounded by the other students who had been whispering around them during the fight._

"Did they just break up?"

"I had no idea that they were dating!"

"So this means that Harry's gay?"

"_I saw this coming __months ago."This was the last comment that Draco heard before he fled back to the Slytherin dungeons, forgetting breakfast in his haste to avoid hearing any more comments about him and Potter.In his flight he failed to see Pansy Parkinson standing in the hall with her mouth hanging open._

* * *

"Are you going to eat _any of that?" Millicent Bulstrode asked scathingly, looking at the mound of food Pansy had piled in a napkin on her plate._

"I'm taking some taking some breakfast for _Draco," Pansy simpered.During the course of her education at Hogwarts, Pansy Parkinson had perfected the art of simpering.It had become a well-established tradition for students in Slytherin House to refine some form of personal expression—like Draco had perfected the art of sneering, Blaise had his own unique eye-rolling technique, Crabbe could expertly crack his knuckles one-handed, and so on.Pansy's expression of choice was her simper.It was a delicate and well-practiced combination of light-hearted silliness, superficiality, and singsong coquettishness._

Millicent let out one of her famous "uh!" noises—it was sort of a sharp exhalation of air that signified her disagreement with something."Can't you just let him get his _own bloody breakfast?Besides, you need to eat something.You __do eat from time to time, don't you?" she asked, her eyes glancing over Pansy's thin frame._

"Of _course I eat," she replied, still maintaining her melodic simper as she buttered a piece of toast."I just don't need as much food as __some people."From across the table, Blaise Zabini rolled his eyes."Anyway, Draco __needs me," she continued, "you saw what happened out in the entrance hall a few minutes ago.He's __troubled."_

Millicent chose not to say anything to this, but instead focused her attention on her doughnut.Just then, Crabbe and Goyle wandered bleary-eyed over to the Slytherin table and sat down across from them.Crabbe nodded to them in acknowledgment before pulling a small flask of Pepper-up Potion out of his robe pocket and pouring it into his goblet of pumpkin juice.

"Don't bogart that potion," Goyle warned him wearily.Crabbe passed the flask to him, and they both chugged the potion before looking up at the rest of their housemates, a bit more open-eyed than before.

"So, what's up?" Crabbe asked, then shared a quick glance with Goyle.They had planned to show off the results of their all-night reading session.

Pansy looked pointedly at them."You don't think Draco's gay, do you?"A few chairs down, Blaise spat pumpkin juice across the table and started hacking violently as he tried to prevent himself from choking.Morag MacDougal tried to help by pounding on his back."That's what people are saying, anyway.Personally, since I'm his girlfriend I know the truth better than anyone, but..." she paused, carefully ignoring another eye-rolling from Blaise, "you're his best friends, so what do you think?"

Crabbe and Goyle blinked at her.Whatever they had expected her to say, this hadn't been it."Well," Crabbe began, waving his hand in the air as he stretched to connect this idea to what he had spent the night reading."Sometimes it's hard to say exactly how _much depends on a red wheelbarrow," Pansy cocked her head to one side, "glazed with rain water," she cocked her head further and squinted in concentration, "beside the white chickens."_

By now Blaise had recovered and went back to his eye-rolling technique.Millicent went, "Uh!", and Pansy now furrowed her eyebrows and considered this bit of wisdom carefully."So, is Draco the wheelbarrow or the chickens?" she asked seriously.

This was the last straw for Blaise Zabini.He stood up, gave them a brief "See you in class," and left the table, wishing with all his might that he could give up Slytherin House and join the Hufflepuffs.

"Well, _I think," Goyle began, rescuing Crabbe, "that it's a matter of social injustice between the classes."A few more heads turned to face him that hadn't been paying attention before."See, Malfoy is like the feudal landlord, right?And Potter and Weasley are like the pro...pro..." he cheated and looked at what he had written on his hand—"proletariat.See, people start spreading rumors about Malfoy because he's in a different social class, so...if we __remove class differentiation, then proletariats like Potter and the Weasel will stop telling people that Malfoy's gay."_

Millicent laughed out loud."That's the best load of bullocks I've heard in ages!"Crabbe and Goyle frowned at her.She stood up and headed toward the door."If you can use that logic to help us beat Gryffindor this afternoon, then I'll _really be impressed."_

After she left, Crabbe turned to Goyle and said, "Well, I thought you sounded quite smart just now."

"Same to you," Goyle returned, "but maybe we need to keep reading.I'm not sure I fully understand this Marx thing."

* * *

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!"Ron bellowed at Harry as they walked to class.

"Keep your voice down!" Harry hissed."I just thought that if I made friends with Malfoy, he'd stop being such an annoying git all the time."He frowned and shook his head, failing to see the rude gesture Ron made with his hands at the mention of Malfoy's name."I still can't believed he just _destroyed the CD I made for him," he reflected bitterly._

Ron stared at him in shock."You made him a CD?" he gasped in surprise."What's a CD again?"

"Watch where you're going!" Justin Finch-Fletchley hollered as Ron carelessly bumped into him in the hallway.

"Sorry, mate!" Ron called back over his shoulder, then turned back and stopped to face Harry."Er—what did you make him again?"

"A CD, Ron," Harry explained, "you know, it's that muggle disc that plays music."

"You gave him a _muggle gift?!"_

"I told you, keep your voice down!" Harry said, looking over their shoulders.He could see Pansy Parkinson standing nearby, undoubtedly trying to listen in on their conversation. He sighed, looking deflated."He listened to my other Queen CD," he explained."I thought that if he liked it well enough to quote it back to me, he'd appreciate a mixed compilation of some of their other songs."

Ron put both hands on Harry's shoulders and looked at Harry sternly.Over Harry's shoulder, he saw Pansy run up to Malfoy across the hallway."Listen to me, Harry," he said seriously, "Malfoy's in Slytherin.His dad's a Death Eater.You know he'd stab you in the back if you gave him the chance.So don't bother trying to make friends with him.Someone like Malfoy is nobody's friend."For a brief flicker of a moment, Draco made eye contact with the Weasley over Harry's shoulder and shot him an enigmatic look before turning his attention back to Pansy.

Harry thought about this for a moment, then slowly sighed."I guess you're right," he decided.

Ron grinned and patted him on the back."Atta boy, Harry," he said, "Come on, we're going to be late to Divinations."

"But _Draco," Pansy simpered, "people are going to get the wrong idea about you.I heard Potter say that he thought you listened to muggle music!"_

Draco rolled his eyes."You know I don't listen to muggle music, Pansy," he shot her a withering look."That was just so I could embarrass Potter in public."

"But that's just it!" Pansy shot back."Why do you care so much?Just this morning people were saying that the two of you are—" she screwed up her face in disgust—"_in love!"_

Draco let out a hollow laugh.He looked across the hall and saw Weasley place his bony, unpolished fingers on Potter's shoulders.Even from this distance, he could see the little brown mole on the back of Potter's neck just below where his hair stopped.

"I don't know where you hear these things, Pansy," he scoffed, "but you shouldn't listen to gossip and take it seriously."

"Then kiss me," she pleaded, running her fingers up his arm, "right here, in front of everybody, and show them what you're about."

Draco cringed inwardly.His eyes darted around the hall.Potter and Weasley were already walking away.He looked back down at Pansy, who was wearing way too much shockingly-pink lip gloss and lavender eye shadow.Her long blonde hair looked too tall and fluffy to be natural.

She closed her eyes and parted her lips, her arms over his shoulders.Tensing up, he quickly bent down and pecked her lightly on the lips, then stepped away."See you after the game," he muttered, and disappeared into his Arithmancy classroom.

* * *

Most students at Hogwarts were aware that Draco Malfoy did not think much of Hufflepuff house.Most assumed that he did not think much of them because of their personal attitudes and dispositions, which were very different from his own.Most assumed wrongly, of course.

Malfoys throughout the history of Hogwarts had disliked Hufflepuff house, and each Malfoy approached the Sorting Hat with the same amount of fear and dread lest they be sorted into Hufflepuff.They had nothing against the wizards and witches who _had been sorted into Hufflepuff (given that they were pureblooded, of course).No, there was a much simpler reason why no Malfoy wanted to be a Hufflepuff:_

Malfoys looked absolutely _terrible in yellow._

Malfoys had always been blond with very pale complexions.They were also incredibly vain about their appearances, and meticulously avoided bright, summery colors that made them look more washed-out than they already did.And so the thought of being forced to wear bright sun-yellow for seven years had been a hideous nightmare for the youngest members of the Malfoy line as they prepared to enter Hogwarts as first-years.

This explains why Draco almost had a heart attack when Madame Hooch told him he would have to wear a Hufflepuff quidditch robe for the game against Gryffindor.

"You _must be joking!" he insisted.Madame Hooch shook her head._

Draco had been horrified enough when he went to the locker room and discovered that someone's potion experiment had gone off in the locker next to his and vaporized everything within a five-foot radius—including his quidditch robes.The only ray of sunshine in this incident was the fact that he had stored his broomstick in his dorm room, so at least that had been safe.Unfortunately, though, it meant that he would have to wear one of the robes from the loaner closet in Madame Hooch's office.What was even more unfortunate was that there were no other Slytherin robes in his size; the only robes available to him were in Hufflepuff and Gryffindor colors.And, of course, since they were playing against Gryffindor, Draco was stuck with the Hufflepuff robe.

"Don't worry, we'll all know it's you," Madame Hooch assured him as she shoved the robe into his reluctant arms."You'll be the only yellow spot surrounded by red and green."

* * *

The rest of the Slytherin team had already gathered on their side of the field by the time their captain flew up to meet them.Actually, they watched as he approached and they squinted their eyes in confusion, wondering why someone from the Hufflepuff team would be heading towards them just before the game.When they finally recognized him, they were only more confused. 

"Malfoy?!" 

"But...why are you—" 

"My robes were destroyed and this was the only loaner robe I could get," he interrupted, and gave them a look that suggested that he was in no mood to give any more explanation.Blaise shot him an extremely envious look in return, but Draco interpreted it as a look of disdain.Draco felt ashamed enough as it was. 

Millicent Bulstrode laughed."Well, at least no one will confuse it for Gryffindor colors. It'll be the only yellow blotch up there," she said, echoing Madam Hooch's sentiments."Just be sure to tell everyone not to stare directly into Malfoy's robe!" 

There were a few chuckles at this until Draco silenced them with a deadly look."As far as I'm concerned, nothing could be worse than Hufflepuff colors," he sulked. 

"For your information, Hufflepuff is a very respectable house and there is nothing wrong with their colors!" Blaise barked unexpectedly. 

"Oh, why don't you just go off and join Hufflepuff House then?" Draco shot back irritably.Blaise's cheeks turned red and he shut his mouth. 

"Look, there's not much time left," Draco said, "For most of you this is your first game as members of the Slytherin team.We've been doing well in practice this year, but that won't get us anywhere if Gryffindor wins this match.Does everyone remember the strategy we discussed last practice?"All heads nodded."Good.Now Zabini, what's your weather report?" 

Blaise cleared his throat."Weather is favorable today.We're supposed to have a clear sky into nightfall, so we'll have good sunlight; the wind is low and the barometric pressure is just about right, with no change expected over the next several hours." 

"Good.Everyone play so that Gryffindor has to face the sun whenever possible."Millicent opened her mouth to make a comment, but a look from Draco stopped her."Gryffindor's chasers play better in good weather, so hit 'em fast and hit 'em hard before they know what's happening."He nodded to Crabbe and Goyle, who were polishing their beating clubs on the hems of their robes."The only other variable is their seeker.Bulstrode, let's test that device you've been prattling on about." 

Millicent grinned and pulled a palm-sized black orb out of her robe pocket."This was my final project in Divinations last term," she explained."The problem with the Gryffindor seeker is that in almost every game that he plays, some calamity befalls him. But if we can predict what will happen to him on the day of the match, then we can play around it and use it to our advantage.I call this the Potter Ball of Peril," she explained proudly as she held up the orb.Draco sneered. 

"All you have to do is ask the question," she continued."Oh, Potter Ball of Peril, just what disaster will befall the Gryffindor seeker today?"She turned the ball upside down and watched as a small pyramid rose up through the blue fluid inside and pressed up against a window.As the rest of the team looked on, she read the inscription on the pyramid. 

"Ooh! 'Flying Monkeys'!" she cried out.

Draco tried to imagine playing a game of quidditch around a swarm of angry, screaming flying monkeys. He shook his head and grabbed the ball from Millicent.

"Let me see that," he shook the ball and held it upside down. "Now it's saying 'Ask Again Later'.Did Trelawney really give you a passing grade for this thing?"She scowled.She was just about to bite back with a witty retort when Madam Hooch blew the whistle, signaling that it was time for them to approach the pitch for the start of the game.She settled for snatching the orb out of Draco's grasp and returning it to the safety of her pocket. 

In all honesty, Draco wasn't ready to face the Gryffindor team on the pitch.The odd dream he'd had about Potter was still fresh in his mind, and as he saw the other boy approach closer and land on the pitch with the grace of an eagle, something in Draco's stomach lurched unexpectedly. 

He pushed this thought aside and assembled his master-crafted sneering facade.With one hand on his broom, he placed his other hand on his hip in a look he hoped was tough and intimidating, and sneered at the team as a whole.Potter was pointedly ignoring him as he stood beside Angelina Johnson, their new captain. 

"Well, well, another year, another chance for Gryffindor to suffer pain and embarrassment in quidditch." 

One of the Weasley twins snarled."You'll be the only ones embarrassed today, Malfoy!"The Slytherins collectively looked defiant.It was a good look for them.Goyle privately reflected that in the rare moments when Slytherins could work together as a group, it was during the times when Slytherins faced off defiantly against the rest of the world.And indeed, they made a good team at that moment. 

Draco focused his attention on Potter, irked that the Gryffindor seeker had the audacity to ignore him."And what about you, Potter?Feel like you might faint today?" 

Harry stoically refused to look at him, and instead turned to Madam Hooch."Professor, no one told our team that the Slytherins were going to replace their captain and seeker with a giant loudmouthed ear of corn." 

The Gryffindor team erupted into loud, derisive laughter.Draco's cheeks chose that moment to turn a dark and deliberate shade of pink, as suddenly not just the Gryffindor team but everyone in the stands from the house seats to the teachers' seats took in his appearance from his bright golden yellow-covered form to his shock of white-blond hair."Ear of corn!" one of the Weasley twins gasped as he bent over, wiping tears from his eyes. 

"Mr. Malfoy will be wearing loaner robes from the Hufflepuff team during the game," Madam Hooch explained calmly—though Draco was sure he could see a slight smirk grace her lips. 

"What's wrong, Malfoy?" the other Weasley twin asked, looking concerned. "Couldn't afford to get robes of your own?"  
"Hey, don't mess with the Corn Man when he's down on his luck!" 

Draco's eye twitched and he ran his fingers through his cornsilk hair, feeling very irritated with the way things were going for him.His attempt at looking cool and tough had been completely dispelled when the entire population of Hogwarts suddenly saw how much he could look like a vegetable. 

Madam Hooch cleared her throat."Now, I want a nice, clean game—from all of you—" Was it Draco's imagination or did she look mostly at the Slytherins whenever she said that?"Captains, shake hands."He stepped forward and shook hands with Angelina Johnson, who was grinning stupidly at him. 

The players mounted their brooms, and then the quaffle was released, signalling the start of the game.

At first the game was fairly ordinary.The Slytherins were leading by about ten points, and Draco had to admit that his team was working surprisingly well together.He shot furtive glances across the field at Potter, who was busy looking for the snitch.Draco still hadn't seen it anywhere. 

"Think fast, Corn Nut!" 

Of course, Draco thought to himself as he dodged yet another bludger, the Gryffindor beaters seemed to be targeting him more than any of the other Slytherin players.Apparently the Weasley twins were still amused by the corn comparison, because they kept coming up with new corn-related epithets to shout at him whenever they sent a bludger his way. 

He turned towards the Ravenclaw side of the bleachers and caught sight of Mandy Brocklehurst and Lisa Turpin holding up a banner that read, "WE LOVE YOU, DRACO!!"They were both cheering and waving at him. 

He rolled his eyes, and in the process he saw something in his peripheral vision.He turned to face upwards to the far Northwest of the field.No, it wasn't the snitch--something was in the air far away on the horizon.He squinted and tried to make out what it was.Small, dark shapes were flying towards them.He looked around and saw Potter looking at the same thing.Nobody else had noticed, however; below them, the game was still in full swing. 

"TEN POINTS TO GRYFFINDOR!" he heard Lee Jordan bellow into the crowd after Katie Bell scored another point against Millicent Bulstrode.He idly thought that Bulstrode would have to do a better job as Keeper if she wanted to remain on the team. 

That thought was suddenly cut off when Draco heard a loud screeching sound just above his head.He craned his neck and saw a large, gray, surly-looking flying monkey hovering over him. 

In another part of his brain he could hear the screams of the crowd in the bleachers around him, but his focus was on putting some distance between himself and the monkey. 

That idea proved itself moot when the whole swarm of monkeys descended upon the quidditch game.Both Gryffindors and Slytherins suddenly found themselves trying to fight off flying monkeys, who were attacking anyone and everyone in the air.Crabbe, Goyle, and the Weasley twins were sending bludgers at the monkeys in vain, and soon gave this up in favor of beating them off with the clubs themselves.Unfortunately the monkeys seemed to be stronger, and the teams' defenses against them looking more fruitless. 

He looked around for Madam Hooch, but she herself was trying to fend off a particularly fierce-looking monkey.He could see a few other teachers gathering on the pitch, shooting something from their wands to stop the monkeys.It seemed to be working, because most of them started to screech in pain and fly away. 

That's when Draco saw it: a solitary monkey hovered in the middle of the field, looking at him and grinning a stupid grin.He was holding the snitch in his large, hairy fingers. 

"What?" Draco yelled.His eyes found those of Potter, who looked equally surprised."He can't catch the snitch!He's not even playing!What do we do now?" 

Before he could do anything else, Harry's eyebrows furrowed in determination and he sped after the flying monkey with the snitch, a battle cry escaping his throat. 

Draco didn't waste any more time, and flew after both of them.He caught up when Harry reached the monkey and grabbed him by the back of his ridiculous-looking red vest. 

The monkey shrieked and batted his wings madly as he tried to free himself.Draco flew around and grabbed the arm holding the snitch, attempting to wrench it away.Harry reached his arm around the monkey's waist and received a mouthful of feathers as the creature's wings beat his face."Hold him steady!" he yelled to the Slytherin. 

The monkey chose that moment to scream in Draco's ear.Draco growled, and with one hand still grasping the arm holding the snitch he balled his other hand into a fist and punched the monkey right in the stomach.The monkey froze for a moment, dazed by the blow—just enough for Draco to pry his hand open and release the snitch into air. 

Two hands grasped for it at the same time, and the snitch was trapped between their palms.Harry and Draco blinked at each other.Both looked like they had been dragged through the wringer—their hair was messed up and their faces were covered in monkey scratches.Potter's glasses were askew and hanging on by one ear.Then Draco felt his breath hitch as he looked into the mossy green eyes of Harry Potter.He could feel the warmth of Potter's hand holding his own.The sensation was alarming, and he could feel an unwanted heat rising in his cheeks.Was it his imagination, or was Potter looking equally confused by the situation?Was it his heart or the snitch that was fluttering madly against Potter's hand? 

Then just as suddenly as it had started, and without warning, Draco was met with a faceful of monkey fist as the monkey had come to and returned to take revenge for hitting him earlier.Draco was thrown back and lost his grip on the snitch and Potter's hand. 

"GRYFFINDOR WINS!" Madam Hooch cried from somewhere below.Potter was left holding the snitch.Potter won the victory, and—as usual—flew down to an enormous cheering crowd while Draco and the rest of the Slytherin team slumped down to the ground in defeat.Draco scowled at them, and was caught off guard when Potter suddenly turned around and shot him a confused look. 

Harry had been surprised to find himself holding the snitch alone all of the sudden, and was warring with himself about whether to tell Madam Hooch that they had both caught it at the same time.But then he caught Malfoy scowling at him, and remembered their argument from earlier that day.Well, he decided, there was no use in doing Malfoy any favors, because Malfoy would only be nasty about it. 

No, he told himself, no sense in that at all. 

He turned back around to face the cheering crowd that was already ready to maul him down, and approached an ecstatic-looking Cho Chang.She beamed at him prettily, and—with a flush on his cheeks—he handed her the snitch. 

Draco could hear her irritatingly-high, squeaky voice from several meters away."Oh, for me, Harry?You're so sweeeeet!"Disgusted, he turned around, and headed to the locker rooms.He was ready to change out of his "corn" uniform, skip dinner, and go straight to bed before anything else could happen to humiliate him. 

Somewhere in the world, there was music, and somewhere, people were laughing.But there was no joy in Slytherin House—for the mighty Slytherins had faced Gryffindors in battle and lost again. 

...To be continued in Chapter 4:Rosencrabbe and Goylenstern 

**Harry Potter and the Malicious Play**

**Part 3**

**Narcissa Malfoy's Crafty Corner**

"Hello, and welcome!" Narcissa chimes, stepping onto a studio set before a live audience.The crowd applauds and the opening theme music for "Narcissa Malfoy's Crafty Corner" begins.She takes her place behind a counter, wearing a cream-colored apron over gray robes.Her hair is pulled back into a graceful blonde upsweep and her ears, neck, and fingers are bedecked in massive gemstone jewelry.As the theme song ends, she addresses the audience.

"Thank you all for coming.On today's show, I'll be showing you how to touch up photographs with Essence of Dorian Gray," she explains, smiling toothily.

"You'll need an ordinary photograph or portrait," she points to a photograph lying on the counter in front of her, "a bowl, watercolor paintbrush, quill and ink, frame, glue, and—of course—Essence of Dorian Gray."She holds up a small bottle."I always use Wilde's brand.There are those who might be tempted to use cheaper knock-off brands," she looks pointedly at a certain red-headed witch frowning in the audience, "but—and I think you'll agree with me—the difference in quality shows.For my family, only the best will do.

"First, squeeze a small amount of glue into your bowl.I generally find that a tablespoon works best.Then add about a teaspoon of Dorian Gray.Stir the mixture with your wand," she pulls out her wand and stirs her mixture, showing the audience the step-by-step procedure as she talks.

"Now, using your paintbrush, you're going to paint it directly on top of the picture.For this demonstration I'm using a photograph of my husband Lucius.Isn't he handsome?"She holds up the picture and smiles.Photograph-Lucius sneers formidably down upon the audience.The audience claps politely.She dips her paintbrush into the gluey mixture and spreads it over the photograph's glossy surface.Photograph-Lucius blinks and sputters as it covers his face, then resumes his stern expression.

"Now, be sure to let your picture dry," she continues, and swishes her wand over the photograph, effectively drying it completely."And it's ready to be framed.For this particular picture, I've selected a deep mahogany frame with gold leaf inlay.However, it's not quite as crucial to use such an expensive frame, as no one should ever see it.Be sure to write the name of the person on the back of the picture in case you don't recognize him after a few years."

She held up the finished product:Lucius Malfoy, framed and coated with a thin, glossy layer of Essence of Dorian Gray."The idea behind this project is that as time passes, the picture will age while the person him-or-herself will remain unchanged.Sometimes you may have to repeat as necessary.Once you have finished framing your picture, place it somewhere no one will ever see it.In my home, we keep a closet specifically designated for storing these."She turns to a door on the wall behind her.As she opens it, several large portraits tumble out, revealing very ugly, monstrous human-like creatures.Narcissa laughs lightly to the audience as she works on shoving the portraits back into the closet before wedging the new addition of Lucius on top of the overflowing pile.It takes her the better half of a minute of kicking and shoving before she can shut the door again completely.She breathes a sigh of relief and claps her hands together.

"And there you have it!On our next show, we'll meet a wizard who will show us all how to breathe new life into dead flowers.Until then, live well and remember:'It's not Dark Magic," she holds out her arms, indicating the audience to join in with her, and they all continue in one large chorus:"It's _SMART Magic."_

* * *

MCF: Three cheers to Oscar Wilde!Hip, hip, hooray!!!^_^

Ok, now I have a confession to make about my reviews.First of all, I appreciate everyone who has reviewed this fic so far.But because I was having problems uploading the first chapter when I was still learning how to post, ff.net erased the first 2 reviews I received (kudos to bluemeanies and surreal1).This shouldn't have bothered me too much, but then I got to thinking that if I had more reviews, then more people would read my work.Then my inner Slytherin convinced me to add 2 more anonymous reviews myself—it would just be to give me credit for _real reviews I'd earned which didn't show up in my ff.net listing.The problem happened the second time that I did this, and I wasn't aware that I was logged in when I reviewed—and so ff.net put my user name on it.And signed reviews aren't removable!:PSo now here I am, hanging my head in shame because anyone can see that I've reviewed my own work.What a dork!Anyway, the vast majority of you probably don't care either way, but I just want to let the record show that I'm really __not that egotistical—I'm just a moron.An embarrassed one, at that._

Well, please review this fic if you've enjoyed it, if only just to prevent me from sabotaging my own review page again.

--My Cat Frank


	4. Rosencrabbe and Goylenstern

** ~The Slytherin Renaissance~ **

** By My Cat Frank **

** Chapter 4: Rosencrabbe and Goylenstern **

Summary: Among other things, Goyle explains Marxism to Draco. That alone should be reason enough to read this chapter…^_~ Also, Snape in powder blue dress robes and Fun With Freud—Adam and Steve Style!!! 

Malicious Play: Dudley Dursley and the Sorcerer's Stone, and Snapeland! 

Warnings: Slash, criminal acts against ceramic objects, wanton philosophizing, Shakespeare abuse, and italics overload 

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Co. belong to J.K. Rowling and her people and are used without permission. However, no profit is going to be gained from this work of fanfiction and I am just a poor college bum on student loans. So really, there's no sense in suing over this work. 

Starting with this chapter, I'm going to take a leaf out of Cassandra Claire's wonderful book and list the references at the end instead of the beginning. 

Thanks go to these wonderful people for reviewing SR (in no particular order): Pisces, deb-sampson, orphne, MOI, Ron's Girly, Show, Captain-Emily, Tess, yuyin, VMorticia, Kelsey, Aishuu Shadowweaver, Sheron, FightsLikeACow, Slytherin Psyche, nightwing, Aurenne, amythest, reila, Vee-sempai, celestinne, Adia, Jadedragon, Kaylin, Fataldreams—Seducer of Fantasy, Catspook, Rosetta, and Iris! Everyone gets a cookie!!! ^___^ Thanks for having patience, despite how friggin' LONG it took to get this chapter uploaded! :P For a full explanation, read my rant at the beginning of Sneeze for Me. 

* * *

_Draco and Harry were walking through a lush, tropical jungle. The air was warm and thick and full of the noises of hundreds of birds and other jungle creatures. It seemed like they had been walking through the dense greenery forever, when suddenly Harry pushed a piece of shrubbery out of the way and they saw open land on the other side._

_ It was like a garden paradise with fountains and fruit trees and sweet-smelling flowers. Harry burst through the wall of shrubbery and ran to the fountain, which was spouting champagne, and filled a nearby goblet. _

_ Draco cautiously entered the garden, his eyes shifting warily around the place. "Are you sure there's no one else here, Potter?" _

_ "We're the only ones," Harry answered, and happily sipped his champagne. "I'm hungry," he announced, and started looking around at the fruit trees. _

_ Draco also looked around—he could see trees bearing apples, pineapples, oranges, pears, and several different tropical fruits that he couldn't identify. He looked back at Harry, who was now talking to a mauve-colored snake coiled around a tree branch. Draco strained his ears to hear what they were talking about until he remembered that it was in Parseltongue. _

_ Harry finished his conversation and turned back to Draco as the snake slithered away and out of sight. He grinned at Draco and pointed to a banana tree in the far corner of the garden. "The snake says that the best fruit around are the bananas from that tree over there," he explained. _

_ Draco looked at the tree. It was conspicuously surrounded by barbed wire. He raised his eyebrow. "Are you sure about that, Potter? It doesn't look like someone wants us to eat it." _

_ Harry ignored him and took out his wand. "Accio bananas!" he yelled, and two bright yellow bananas plucked themselves free from a bunch and flew into Harry's waiting hands. He grinned and handed one to Draco before peeling his own and taking a big, huge bite. _

_ "What are you waiting for?" he asked, when he saw that Draco still hadn't peeled his banana. _

_ "I still can't help thinking that we're not supposed to be eating these," he said, staring at the fruit. _

_ Harry laughed. "Come on, live a little," he coaxed, then took Draco's banana and began to peel it for him, then held it up to Draco's mouth. "Take a bite," he purred. "Go on. It won't hurt." _

_ Draco grabbed the banana, his hand over Harry's, and took a bite. He looked thoughtful as he chewed and swallowed. "You know, I think you're right," he said matter-of-factly. "This is pretty good." _

_ Harry smirked and took another big bite, his eyes on Draco as he did so. He sat down on the grass and propped himself up with an elbow. "Draco," he said, "do you know what it means to be a lucid dreamer?" _

_ "Sure I do," Draco answered in between bites. "It's someone who—" bite—"knows that they're dreaming—" bite— "while they're dreaming." He finished the banana and sat down next to Harry. _

_ "Then you know that you're dreaming right now, don't you?" Draco shrugged. "You know this, like you knew you were dreaming when we met alone on the quidditch pitch—" he grinned slyly—"and that other dream you had over the summer when we met at the 'Good-Looking Young Gentlemen's Club'." _

_ "More like you gate-crashed that party," Draco corrected him. "And you stole all the attention away from me, which wasn't fair of you at all." _

_ Harry grinned. "Face it, Draco. You think I'm good-looking." _

_ "Maybe I do, and maybe I don't." _

_ Harry looked Draco up and down. "You're good-looking yourself, you know." _

_ "Of course." _

_ "But...you do realize that you're naked right now, right?" _

_ Draco looked down at himself with more than an ounce of surprise. Indeed, he was naked—but he had no memory of taking off his clothes, or if he had been wearing clothes at all before. This should have bothered him, because he ordinarily loathed the idea of public nudity. For some reason he couldn't identify, however, he felt extremely comfortable. He looked back at Harry. _

_ "So are you." _

_ Harry casually glanced at his own nakedness and turned his bright green eyes back to Draco. "So I am." He laid himself back on the grass and stretched, resting his head on his hands. He grinned up at Draco and purred seductively. "You still remember this is a dream, don't you?" Draco swallowed—hard—and slowly nodded, eyes traveling all over Harry Potter in his glory. "And you know that there are no consequences in dreams, right?" Another nod. "You can do whatever you want." Draco nodded again. _

_"Then, Draco—" Harry continued—"what's to stop you from fucking my brains out right now?" _

* * *

Draco awoke with a start and found an owl on his chest. Still wondering what happened to the naked Harry and the garden paradise, he blinked at the bird for a minute while it hooted noisily and waved its leg in his face. Finally he woke up enough to slowly remember what he was supposed to do, and groggily fumbled in the dark with the knot that held the letter to the owl's leg. He mumbled something incoherent as the owl continued to hoot at him.

Eventually he freed the note and the owl pecked irritably on his finger before flying away. Draco unfolded the letter and stupidly tried to read it until he remembered that he was still lying in bed in the dark. He muttered a curse under his breath and turned on the bedside lamp, rubbed his eyes, and tried again. 

_Draco, _

_Although I was disappointed to hear about your defeat in quidditch last week, rest assured that you will never encounter flying monkeys in another game at Hogwarts. I trust you will perform better next time. _

_Word has reached me that rumors are circulating around your school about an alleged romance between yourself and Harry Potter. As ridiculous and far-fetched as these stories are, it is your duty to set the record straight and leave no shadow of a doubt for these confused individuals. Remember that you are a Malfoy; our name will be respected as long as we maintain a respectable image. _

_You will have a great opportunity to uphold the family name over the upcoming holiday. Your mother and I are planning a party for Christmas evening, and you will be introduced to some very important and influential connections. _

_Until then, work diligently at your studies. The O.W.L.s are just around the corner. Your mother sends her regards. _

_Sincerely, _

_Your Father _

Draco stuffed the letter in the drawer of the nightstand, turned the lamp off, and threw himself back onto his pillow, sighing heavily. He blinked up at the ceiling and tried to return to his dream, but by now there was no use—he was wide awake and full of anxiety.

_"You have no heart, Malfoy."_ It had been weeks since Draco had heard Potter say these words, but they continued to haunt him. How could he not have a heart when he felt all this—what _was_ he feeling, anyway? His head was a mess. He wondered what it would be like not to have a heart. Would it feel any different? Would it feel the same? If he didn't have one, how would he know what it would feel like if he did? 

In any case, it would be best if he shut himself off from this line of thinking. It was too confusing anyway. There was no sense in dwelling on things he couldn't have. His father already knew about the mess with Potter—but how? Apparently, someone from school was sending him messages informing him of everything that happened involving his son. Draco wondered about this. How else could it explain how his father would know so much about what was going on at Hogwarts? It wasn't like he visited often, and he refused to believe that his father would stoop to sneaking around the school spying on him. Obviously, someone was playing the informant—but was it a student or a teacher? Whoever it was, they would have to be paid well, and it would have to be someone close enough to know what he was doing at any given time.

He sat up in bed and looked around the dark dorm room. Blaise Zabini was snoring softly on the other side of the room, next to another random Slytherin whom Draco had never bothered to get to know, despite the fact that they had lived together for the bulk of four and a half years. Somehow he failed to believe that either one of them held much interest in the life of Draco Malfoy. Crabbe's and Goyle's beds were on either side of his own, and he could see Crabbe lying with his mouth wide open and Goyle muttering something into his pillow about the working class. _Huh?!_ He shook his head. Then again…the more Draco thought about it, the more Crabbe and Goyle seemed like likely candidates to spy on him. They hung around him all the time, and talked with him…

Right, he decided, he was going to have to have a serious talk with them sometime in the near future. And as he planned this, it helped get his mind off of a certain Gryffindor student who kept invading his dreams and hated him in real life… 

* * *

Most people who knew Severus Snape would agree that there really was no easy way to explain the man. However, if one were to try, the easiest attempt would be to just say "It's not easy being Snape," and end it there. No one really knew how easy it was to be Snape, but they assumed that based on the perpetual look of put-upon indignation on his face, it couldn't have been that easy. Sometimes it seemed downright unfair, especially considering all the different shampoos and hair care potions he had tried, and even though he washed his hair once a week it still looked perpetually greasy. It just wasn't easy being Snape. Of course, most of his students—particularly those in Gryffindor house—would not have seen it this way. And so when the fifth-year Gryffindor and Slytherin students were in Potions class one day, trying to brew a particularly nasty potion, not a single student ruminated on the difficulty of being Snape. None of them ever _had _been, or ever would be, Snape, so they didn't see much point in the subject.

Snape, meanwhile, drifted around the classroom with his clipboard, peering into students' cauldrons and checking off points for failure to follow directions, wondering _why_ he had ever decided to go into the teaching profession in the first place. 

Unfortunately, there really weren't that many job opportunities available in theoretical potion-making. There were even fewer employers willing to hire an acknowledged ex-Death Eater, so Snape was actually fairly lucky to be in Albus Dumbledore's good graces enough to be hired as Hogwarts's Potions Master. Still, it meant that he had to teach adolescents. Even more unfortunately, adolescents never behaved quite the way Snape wanted them to: like miniature adult versions of himself.

It may be hard for the reader to imagine what a miniature version of Snape would be like. Would he be just like the older Snape, but shorter? Or would he have had different, more adolescent-like mood swings? Did he ever do any swinging of any kind?

It is, however, extremely fortunate for this narration that Snape chose that particular moment to sit back at his desk, glare at the students in his classroom, and reminisce about his own adolescence at Hogwarts when he was a student. 

~~~~~Flashback to the Teen!Snape Years~~~~~ 

Seventeen-year-old Snape stood near the wall in the Great Hall, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot in his powder-blue dress robes. Why had he ever let that witch in the robe shop convince him that powder blue was the new black?! Not that it really mattered—he didn't have a date anyway. He surveyed the crowd at the Yule Ball, debating whether or not to just give up and go back to the dungeons. 

Just then he spotted Lily Evans standing alone off to his right. She was one of the prettiest girls in his house—and definitely the smartest. Was there a chance that—no, he didn't dare—or perhaps he could—

He gathered up his courage and approached her. She was watching the dance floor and wearing a silk green robe, smoothing her long red hair with her fingers and tapping her foot to the beat. She turned, and to his surprise, she smiled at him. "H-hello, Miss Evans," he finally said.

She chuckled. "You know, Severus, you can call me Lily," she told him, "and hello."

"Hello, Lily," he said again. He looked extremely nervous and wiped his hands on his robes. She looked at him patiently, waiting for him to say something. "Would you—I mean, you don't have to, of course, but you—er—it would be my pleasure if you would dan—"

"Here, I brought you a butterbeer," a bottle suddenly found its way into Lily's hand and Snape took in the unexpected appearance of James Potter.

Potter slung his arm around Lily and said, "Come on, a few of us are heading up to Gryffindor Tower to mix Brown Charlies." He noticed Snape standing next to them and his expression cooled. "He's not bothering you, is he?" Snape glared back at him.

Lily shook her head. "No, he's not," she replied, and turned back to Snape with a smile. "It was nice talking to you, Severus. Maybe next time?" With that, she allowed Potter to steer her towards the door and out of the Great Hall.

Snape watched her go, and so he didn't anticipate the voice coming from behind his ear.

"You should be careful to watch your step," the voice growled in a low voice. Snape turned and cast a dark gaze on Sirius Black.

"Unless I am mistaken," Snape replied evenly, "this dance is a public forum, Black. There is no law forbidding me from talking to a student in my own house. There are, however, laws against threatening other students, drinking alcohol in the dorms, and students visiting in houses that are not their own."

"Are you saying that you would report Lily Evans?"

"Not at all," Snape answered coolly, "I have no reason to betray her. I am more worried that she might be betrayed by those she considers to be her friends."

"If anyone were to betray somebody," Black returned, "I'd place my bets on you."

"How little you know me," Snape commented through thin lips. He watched the dance floor, where Mr. Pringle was spinning the new, young Transfiguration teacher in a stunning maneuver.

Sirius Black turned to stand in front of him, blocking his view. "Prongs and Lily are my friends," he explained in a warning tone, "and if you do anything to harm them, God so help me I'll—"

"I forgot what charming little nicknames you and your friends made for each other," Snape interrupted. "Black, I believe I might have mentioned that there is a law against threatening another student. Besides, it would not be wise for you to cross me. Not when I know certain facts about you and your friends."

Black's eyes widened. "Are you blackmailing me? What could you possibly know, anyway?"

"Maybe you would like to explain to the Headmaster what you, Potter, Lupin, and Pettigrew have been doing at night when you leave the castle?"

Black laughed. "Go ahead. But if you tell Professor Dumbledore about that, then I might have to tell him what I know about you and your friends and your little secret club."

Snape arched an eyebrow. "Our 'little secret club'?"

"Don't play dumb, Snape. I've seen you people sneaking around the dungeons at night with your masks and hooded robes. Wouldn't Dumbledore be interested to know more about that, hmm?"

Just then, Ludo Bagman made a distracting scene by accidentally catching his robes on fire. He ran to the refreshment table near Snape and Black, and poured the entire contents of the punchbowl over his head. Since he was standing so close, Snape caught the full brunt of the splash, and his powder-blue robes were now speckled with large splotches of dark red.

Black chuckled cruelly. "You look good like that," he commented, and turned to go. "Oh, and one more thing," he added, calling over his shoulder, "if you want to know what we do when we go out at night, follow us out to the Whomping Willow sometime. Use a stick to press the knot at the base of the tree, and you'll see where we go."

Snape scowled as he left and tried in vain to brush out the worst of the punch.

"I know of a spell that will take that out," a soft voice said next to him. Snape turned his head and saw Narcissa Hornby. She was smiling at him with an expression that held no malice or bemusement, but what could only be considered genuine friendliness. Her blonde hair was twisted over one shoulder with a series of emerald ribbons and she wore a shimmering emerald/silver gown.

"Er—thanks," he grumbled as she pointed her wand at the larger splotches and said a spell to remove them. He pushed her hand away when she pointed her wand at a particularly private zone. "Thanks, I can take it from here," he told her, trying not to sound impolite.

"Oh, of course," she smiled, stifling a giggle. Following her example he removed the rest of the stains.

"Severus?" she asked, laying a hand on his forearm, "Would you care to dance wi—"

"Oh, there you are," a cold voice drawled from behind him. Snape was beginning to wonder why he couldn't anticipate anyone's approach before their voices took him by surprise. As he mused to himself that he really needed to work on this skill, he turned around and saw Lucius Malfoy walking up to them.

"Hi, Lucius," Narcissa replied with a sigh, and an almost indetectable not of disappointment. Lucius failed to hear it, though, or else he ignored it, for he took Narcissa by the elbow and steered her towards the door. 

"Come on, I've booked us a reservation in the Astronomy Tower," he drawled aristocratically, and turned to look at Snape with a bored expression. "Thanks for watching my date for a few minutes, Snape. I owe you one," he said, and turned to go.

Narcissa looked back at Snape over her shoulder and waved goodbye. "Good night, Severus," she called, and was gone.

Snape looked back over the thinning dance floor and sighed. The last few stragglers were getting ready to leave, and there didn't seem to be much point in staying. So with one last look, he turned and left, going back to the dorms alone… 

~~~~~~~End Flashback~~~~~ 

Adult Snape sighed softly as he sat behind his desk, overseeing his domain, the Potions classroom. How differently his life had turned out than he ever though it would! Compared to the dreams he used to have when he was younger, this life felt so…pathetic. But now he was trapped, ruling in an adolescent hell he had little control over. Not only that, but certain political events had forced him back into a lifestyle he thought he was safely in the distant past. 

Now, in addition to being a Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House, he was a Death Eater spy for Dumbledore thanks to a certain rat that had to go drenching up fossilized evil overlords. Now, he had to attend weekly Death Eater board meetings and listen to Lucius Malfoy rant on about how flying monkeys nearly killed his son because of poor planning, and Lord Voldemort's senile attempts at world domination and killing Harry Potter were beyond irritating. If only someone could off the old fool and they could all get on with their lives…to be honest, most of the ex-Death Eaters were doing much better for themselves than Voldemort did for them. 

But sadly, such was not the case, and Snape decided that there really was nothing to be gained from stressing about it any longer, and set about his routine check-ups around the classroom.

Meanwhile, Harry looked across the room at Draco, then turned back to look at Ron over their cauldron. "Ron, you know a lot about wizarding terms, right? Can you tell me—what's a 'Brown Charlie'? Don't laugh if it's a stupid question."

Ron blinked at him as he stirred their potion, distracted from wondering why it was green when it should have been pink. "A Brown Charlie?" he asked, shaking his head. "Never heard of it. Who was talking about Brown Charlies?"

"Two underaged Gryffindors such as yourselves would be wise not to discuss Brown Charlies in my classroom," Snape seethed as he loomed over both of them. Inwardly, Harry wondered how Snape had managed the ability to hear everything at once and show up right next to them without their awareness at the most inconvenient times.

"If I found out that either of you were partaking in any beverages stronger than butterbeer," Snape continued, "you would be _very_ sorry indeed." With that, he folded his arms over his chest and floated away to the next table.

"How does he _do_ that?" Ron whispered.

As Snape floated on by, he noticed a book fall from Goyle's table. He picked it up before Goyle could reach it and look up at him with fearful, apprehensive eyes. He glanced at the title: _The Rise of Soviet Russia_. He raised an eyebrow and quietly handed the book back to Goyle.

"Mr. Goyle, I would prefer if you paid more attention to your Potions assignment," he said, and swept away to the next table.

Everyone was suddenly distracted by an outburst coming from Draco's and Pansy's table.

"But it's not _FAIR!_" Pansy Parkinson crossed her arms on her chest and stamped her foot childishly. "You should have won that game, Draco," she pouted. Crabbe, who was stationed next to her, nodded in support.

"Pansy, _shut up_," Draco muttered, staring intently at the contents of his cauldron. 

"But you were the one to beat the monkey up there!" she retorted. Draco blankly stared into his cauldron, pretending not to hear the sounds of muffled giggles around the room. "I mean, you and Potter were both beating it off," she continued inanely, "but you were the one to _really_ beat it, so Slytherin should have won!"

"Hey Pansy, maybe Slytherin would win more Quidditch games if your boyfriend didn't have to beat it off every time he got up in the air!" Ron called out from across the room. The class exploded in laughter. Hermione rolled her eyes. Pansy dropped her jaw in shock, finally catching his meaning.

"That's enough," Snape interrupted before she could say anything. "Mr. Weasley, ten points from Gryffindor for your sophomoric outburst. Miss Parkinson, ten points to Slytherin for house spirit." 

Before Ron could say anything about the unfairness of this ruling, the bell rang and students began to file out of the classroom. He shook his head and turned to Harry. "Bugger," he muttered, and Harry nodded in agreement.

* * *

"Harry, you should be more careful with that," Hermione sternly warned him as they walked along the hallway later that afternoon.

Harry smoothed the wrinkles out of the invisibility cloak he was carrying. "Don't worry," he assured her, "I wash it in the gentle cycle, hang it up to dry, fold it carefully in my trunk—"

"And then you abandon it in some random location where anyone could find it," she returned. "Honestly, I'm surprised you haven't lost it for good yet."

"Trust me, I'm careful," Harry said, getting tired of Hermione's nagging. Like he would ever let anyone else steal the prized invisibility cloak that once belonged to his father! Of course, he purposely forgot about the times he had left it behind in obvious places where people like Snape had found it…

"Whatever," Hermione shook her head. "I'll be in the library until late, so I'll see you later."

"Yeah…see you," Harry waved absently, and after she left he looked both ways and disappeared into the witch's hump that led to the secret passageway to Honeydukes.

* * *

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Draco ran across the room, hefting a large wooden mallet with both hands, and swung it with all his might into Harry Potter's face. He watched as the head exploded into myriad tiny pieces upon impact, and swung again at the rest of his enemy. It wasn't _really_ Harry Potter, but a life-size ceramic statue designed to look specifically like the 'Boy Who Lived'. This statue then became the victim of Draco Malfoy's frustration and anger, as within minutes it was reduced to a pile of rubble on the floor. He then dropped the mallet and picked up a ceramic plate from a shelf on the wall. He threw it like a Frisbee until it too shattered into hundreds of small shards. He proceeded to work his way through the impressive collection of fine china and pottery that lined the walls, constantly yelling at the top of his lungs.

"What's the point in pottery, anyway!?" he shouted to the empty room. 

"A _Potter_," he told himself loudly, "is someone who plays with mud." BAM!—went a large bowl against the cold stone wall.

"Hours of mixing and shaping," –CRASH!—went a teacup into the ceiling, "days of drying," –SMASH!—went a stoneware pitcher, "allow even _more_ time for glazing and painting…"

He picked up a particularly priceless-looking porcelain vase that had to have been an antique from China, meticulously painted with a design so detailed that many of the strokes could only have been produced with a single hair. He examined it momentarily for its beauty, then pitched it directly into the wall with full force, where it exploded in a cloud of dust. "…and destroyed in seconds."

Draco stood in the middle of the room and panted for breath, his arms shaking, feeling the surge of energy coursing through him. Almost all of the ceramic items in the room had been completely obliterated.

Then he placed two fingers on his throat and studied his watch, timing his heart rate.

"Good. I'm in the zone," he muttered, took a long draught from a goblet of water, and smashed it too into the corner of the room. He toweled the sweat off his forehead and crossed the room to a contraption that best resembled a treadmill. As soon as he stepped on, the tread began to move and Draco started the jogging portion of his workout routine.

As he jogged along, he busied himself by using his wand to repair the roomful of pottery with a simple spell. Shards and clouds of dust on the other side of the room leaped together to reform themselves into the more familiar ceramic objects which he had so brutally destroyed minutes before, now ready for the next time to be obliterated all over again.

He scowled as the ceramic Potter regained its shape. He pointed his wand at the head and said a spell that made it explode again. He smirked to himself and continued his jog, feeling much more at peace than he had been before he began his workout.

A few minutes later, Goyle entered the room with a small book in his hand. He and Draco nodded at each other, Draco still huffing away on the treadmill. After putting a spell on the book to levitate it in front of him, Goyle picked up a barbell from a wall rack and began a set of arm curls, his eyes glued to the pages.

"You've been awfully attached to that book," Draco observed. "What is it, anyway?"

"It's called _The Communist Manifesto_," Goyle answered, still lifting the weights. "It's sort of a philosophy book about how the world would be a much better place if everyone shared their possessions and nobody was better off than anybody else."

"Huh?"

Just then, Crabbe and Millicent entered the private Slytherin gym. Draco and Goyle nodded at them as Crabbe picked up a barbell and Millicent approached an odd-looking elliptical training machine.

"You know how some people are better off than others," Goyle continued, talking to Draco. Draco nodded. "Well, this guy Marx says that things should be shared equally so everyone has a fair chance."

"Why would they want to do that?" Draco asked. Millicent, meanwhile, was staring stupidly at the machine in front of her.

"Hey guys, how do you get this thing to work?" she asked.

"Just get on and start stepping," Draco told her.

"What do you mean?" Goyle asked. Crabbe was trying to follow along with their conversation but it was getting confusing.

Draco huffed, still jogging on his treadmill. "I mean, if everybody had the same as everybody else, where would be the fun in having more than other people? You can't lord over everybody else when they have just as much as you," he reasoned.

"Well, that's kind of the point," Goyle answered.

Draco frowned. "I think your attitude needs adjusting."

Millicent spent half a minute on her machine before giving up and heading towards the weights. "I think it's a lost cause," she announced to no one in particular.

"What's a lost cause?" Crabbe asked, grimacing as he raised the heavy barbell to his chin.

"Getting her to exercise," Draco laughed, noticing her failed attempt at choosing a proper weight for the hand weights.

"Uh! No," she huffed, and turned to Goyle. "Trying to change _his_ point of view," she stuck her thumb at Draco, "is a lost cause."

"I don't see how it's any of your business," Draco remarked coolly. He turned back to Goyle. "What's with you lately, anyway? It's not like you to be so…_bookish_. I mean, manifestos? People having stuff, people not having stuff…and this morning in class I caught you reading some thick muggle book about Russia or something. You've changed, Goyle, and I don't know what's gotten into you. And you," he added, glaring at Crabbe. "What's this all about, anyway?"

Crabbe shrugged. "It's interesting," he said, "and we seem to be good at it. I wish you could be more supportive of this. I think it's a positive step."

"A positive step?" Draco retorted, stepping off the treadmill and swinging a towel around the back of his neck. He was stunned. Crabbe had spoken to him—and he wasn't being obsequious, wasn't automatically agreeing with him—Crabbe had actually taken a stand for himself. Not only that, but he had challenged him. Draco stared at him in something akin to awe.

"Did you know that there was a communist experiment in Russia? I've been trying to research it and find out what happened. It's terribly exciting," Goyle gushed. 

Draco glared at Goyle, then at Crabbe, and finally shook his head in resignation. "Whatever. But after you've showered, meet me in the common room to go for a walk. There's something I want to talk to you both about." He jerked his head towards Millicent, meaning it was something he didn't want her to listen in on. With that, he swept out of the gym.

After that, Millicent tried to use the treadmill. Let's show some pity and end the scene there.

* * *

Muggle studies was the only class that the Slytherins had with the Hufflepuffs. Actually, it would be more appropriate to say that it was the only class that the Slytherin had with the Hufflepuffs, because the only Slytherin enrolled in that class was Blaise Zabini.

It was, of course, his favorite class. For one afternoon a week he was surrounded by a classroom full of Hufflepuffs, and without the presence of other Slytherins around it was so much easier for him to pretend that he himself was one of them. Blaise Zabini, of Hufflepuff House—what a great ring it had to it!

The class itself was fairly easy—it was something of a blowoff class, to be honest, so it wasn't really any surprise that so many Hufflepuffs signed up for it each year. In each class they listened to muggle music, watched muggle "movies," and discussed muggle issues. Blaise loved every minute of it.

Today they had watched some muggle American film called "The Breakfast Club." It had no breakfast in it at all, but the thing that Blaise found most remarkable about the movie was that these teenagers started out playing different stereotypical roles, but by the end they realized that they could still be friends even if they came from completely different backgrounds.

Blaise was still thinking about this as he walked in silence down the hall with Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. He hated playing the part of the unruly Slytherin. He'd much rather be part of the sweet, lively, _fun_ Hufflepuffs—but could he ever breach his way into their circle?

There was a character in the movie that seriously reminded him of Malfoy—and as they walked along in silence he was foolishly tempted to ask Malfoy if he had ever called Longbottom a neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie, or if his mum had ever made his dad a turkey pot pie.

Before he could ask, however, Harry Potter distracted him by climbing out of thin air ahead of them in the hallway.

"Harry!" Another voice, more feminine, called to the Gryffindor from the opposite end of the hall. As they reached closer it became apparent that the voice belonged to Cho Chang, who was approaching Harry and waving her arm to get his attention. 

Draco huffed. "I'm not going to watch this," he announced, and started walking at a very rapid pace. Crabbe and Goyle tried to keep up with him, and Blaise stood behind, choosing to stay hidden in a very conveniently-placed shadow. He had noticed something very curious when Cho Chang appeared: while the others were focused on watching her, running towards them in a T-shirt emblazoned with a picture of Danger Mouse, Potter had quickly tossed something behind the statue of the witch with a flustered look on his face.

Draco sneered as he passed by, roughly bumping his shoulder against Potter and glaring insolently at Cho Chang.

"Hey, watch it!" Harry yelled after him, but by then Draco, Crabbe and Goyle had turned around the corner and disappeared out of sight.

"Umm, hi," he said to Cho, blushing and staring into her T-shirt—well, it was hard not to, being a very _tight_ shirt, but—er—well—

"I love Danger Mouse," he finally said, breaking the silence. Cho beamed.

"Really? That's great! Because not too many people around here would recognize him. This is my favorite shirt," she gushed, clicking her tongue stud between her teeth. She also had an eyebrow piercing by now, which—like the tongue stud—was enchanted to be invisible to anyone over 30.

"So…er…you wanna go for a walk?" He twiddled his thumbs together. He had been shocked to meet Cho so unexpectedly in the hallway. There was no way that he was going to let this opportunity to spend some quality time with his crush go by without doing something!

Cho shrugged. "Sure," she said, and grabbed his arm. "Come on, let's go walk down by the lake." Harry blushed even harder at this and grinned stupidly, following her down the hallway.

After they were both out of sight, Blaise popped out of the spot where he had been lurking out of the shadows. He approached the statue, looked both ways to make sure no one was watching, and reached for the object Potter had so carelessly flung in his haste to hide it from Cho.

The fabric was very delicate, he noticed, and it was apparently a cloak of some kind. He found a tag on this inside marked "If found, please return to Harry Potter." Curiously, he swung the cloak over his shoulders, and half his body disappeared. Blaise had found an invisibility cloak! He quickly hid the rest of his body, silently in awe over his newfound discovery.

Just then, a small group of Hufflepuff students entered the hallway and walked towards him. Of course they would not see him, and Blaise moved out of their way, still remarking over his own invisibility. As they passed, Blaise found himself in a difficult situation.

This type of situation is less commonly found in reality as it is in fiction, but since this is a fictional story we will embrace the idea and pretend that it really happened: two miniature versions of Blaize Zabini appeared on either side of his shoulders. One of the mini-Blaises was dressed in Hufflepuff robes; the other was dressed in Slytherin robes.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Slytherin Blaise asked. He prodded the real Blaise in the temple. "You know you want to follow them…spy on them…just go, before you lose their tracks…"

"Whaaaat?!" Hufflepuff Blaise exclaimed indignantly. "Blaise, no! You know who this cloak belongs to. He's going to miss it! It's wrong to take advantage of this situation! Follow Potter down to the lake and give him back his cloak!"

"It's his own fault for losing it," Slytherin Blaise reasoned. "Finders keepers, losers weepers, eh?" He got closer to Blaise's ear and whispered suggestively. "Besides, you can always return it to him _later_. He doesn't need it right now."

"But it's _wrong!"_ Hufflepuff Blaise reaffirmed.

"You'd just be borrowing it. He can have it back when you're done with it."

"But it's stealing!"

"Potter's busy right now. He doesn't want it back yet. Just use it…"

"But you should do the _right thing_ and give him back—"

"Look," Slytherin Blaise said, addressing Hufflepuff Blaise, "What's it going to take to get you to shut up?"

But by then it was a moot point, because the real Blaise Zabini was already zipping down the hall, in hot pursuit of the Hufflepuffs.

* * *

Draco stormed off down to the lake, Crabbe and Goyle trying to keep up with him. "Merlin! Sometimes I swear I'm surrounded by tedious fools!" He muttered to himself. The image of Harry Potter staring at Cho Chang's tightly-bound cleavage still flashed before his eyes, unnerving him.

"Umm, Malfoy?"

Draco stopped his storming and swiveled around to face an out-of-breath Crabbe and Goyle. His expression changed so dramatically from pissed to congenial that the other two felt extremely confused. "Crabbe! Goyle! And how _have_ you been doing lately?"

Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other, trying to decide how to react. Finally Crabbe shrugged. "As the indifferent children of the earth, I guess?"

Goyle nodded. "Yeah. Things could be better, but they could be worse too, I suppose."

Crabbe tried to change the subject. "You know, just the other day Pansy was saying that—"

"Pansy," Draco cut him off, saying the name as if he had forgotten about her entirely. He stood and thought for a moment, leaning up against a tree. "Do you two speak to her often?"

Crabbe blushed. "Well, sometimes, we…er…"

Goyle jumped to his rescue. "It's hard not to, of course," he said, "being in the same house, we eat meals together, take classes together…we didn't think you would be jealous, Malfoy."

Draco's eyes perked up. "Jealous?" He turned to Crabbe. "Should I have reason to be jealous, Crabbe?"

"Of course not!" Crabbe returned hotly, perhaps a bit too quickly. "You know I would never—"

Draco waved his hand. "Relax, relax," he said, "to be honest I don't really care what you think of her. I've always thought she's a bit of a strumpet, myself."

"What?!" Crabbe looked abashed. "How can you say that? I mean, look at her! For one thing, she walks in beauty, like the night, and she's the best of all that's dark and light, and—"

"What? No she's not! Where did you pick up a load of crap like that?" Draco flashed him an odd look. Crabbe shuffled his toe in the dirt, avoiding his gaze. "Wait," Draco wondered, "is that more of your…muggle poetry?"

Crabbe nodded sheepishly and stared at the ground.

Draco rolled his eyes and continued walking along the shore of the lake. "Whatever," he sighed. "All this sincerity is making me think that the world is coming to an end. Merlin," he said, kicking a pebble, "this place feels like a prison. I can't wait until Christmas break." He looked carefully at Crabbe and Goyle. "Are both of you coming to our Christmas party?"

Goyle nodded. "My father said that anyone who is anyone will be there," he told him. 

Crabbe agreed. "Should be fun. I heard even the Dark Lord is going to attend this one."

Draco gazed across the water, his expression unreadable. "Yes," he admitted. "All the best sort of people have been invited."

"Malfoy?" Draco turned his head back and faced Goyle. "Why would you think this place is a prison? Do you mean the school, or what?"

"All the world feels like a prison, Goyle," he said.

Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other apprehensively. "Surely it can't be that bad," Crabbe acknowledged.

"Maybe not for you, but it is for me," Draco answered coolly.

"Then it must be a prison of the mind," Goyle returned thoughtfully. Draco studied him for a moment. 

"That was surprisingly clever of you, Goyle," he said, "No, wait. I take that back. Lately you both have been acting more than a bit clever and I haven't given you credit for it. And you're right. Lately I've been plagued with odd dreams."

Crabbe and Goyle were astonished. Malfoy had just acknowledged that they were clever? And had he just admitted to something so personal as having odd dreams?

"Anyway, what are you two doing here?" Draco asked, catching them off guard.

"Um, well, I thought we were taking a walk," Goyle answered uncertainly.

"And why did you both agree to come with me?"

"Er—" Crabbe tried to think. "Because you asked us to?"

"And why do you both do whatever I ask you to?" This stumped both of them.

Draco stood and waited for their reactions, watching them look at each other for cues on how to answer. "No one is forcing you to be my personal servants. You don't have to do everything I want you to, you know," he said thoughtfully, "or are you getting paid?"

Crabbe and Goyle both stared at him. "Er, well…huh?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "If you are my friends, if you were _ever_ my friends, I want you to tell me the truth," he said seriously, "did my father ask you to watch over me? Do you send him information on what I am doing?"

Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other. Draco crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for an answer. "What should we say?" Goyle whispered to Crabbe, failing to realize that Draco could hear.

"If you really are my friends, don't stop to think about it. Just answer."

Finally Crabbe turned to face Draco. "Yes," he admitted, and looked down.

"That's what I thought," said Draco. "I want to trust you guys with confidential information. But I don't want it to get out to my father. So from now on, all reports to him will be run by me first. Got it?" Crabbe and Goyle nodded, and somehow Draco knew he could trust them. He felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulder. He took a deep breath. "Lately, I just haven't felt like myself, and I have no idea why," he admitted.

Crabbe and Goyle looked at him. "Everything just seems wrong for some reason, and it's so bad that the whole _world_ seems to be screwed up. I mean, look at it!" he waved his arm at the air. "It just feels like, well…"  
"A sterile promontory?" Crabbe offered. 

Draco eyed him warily. "Yeah, something like that. And the sky, you know—"

"This brave overhanging firmament? This majestical roof fretted with golden fire?" Crabbe interjected.

"Yeah. It just appears to me to be, well, kind of blah…"

"A foul and pestilent congregation of vapors," Crabbe mused.

Draco glared at him. "Where do you come up with this stuff? Never mind, I don't want to know. Anyway, the whole race of wizardkind seems like it should be this great piece of work, all noble and stuff, capable of doing anything in the world, just perfect, you know…"

"The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals!" Crabbe chirped. Draco shot him a contemptuous look. He wasn't sure if he should feel ashamed for being out-articulated by Vincent Crabbe.

"Sure," he muttered bitterly, "_Anyway_, what I mean is that wizards are supposed to be so great, but I just can't feel satisfied with the way I think about them—Oh, _Merlin!_" he stopped and whirled around.

Coming towards them along the shore of the lake were none other than Harry Potter and Cho Chang. "What are they _doing_ here? This must be a conspiracy!"

Crabbe and Goyle looked confused, distracted from Draco's speech by his wild swerving around and looks of distress.

"Maybe they just wanted to take a walk," Goyle offered, "they'll pass us by and leave us alone."

"Maybe they're just _ trying_ to kill me," Draco returned, pressing his fingers to his temples in what was supposed to be a soothing manner.

"Shh, they'll hear you," Crabbe said. Crabbe and Goyle took their customary positions of defense, flanking Draco and looking tough. 

Draco crossed his arms over his chest and sneered when Harry and Cho got within sneering range. "Well, well, men, what have we got here? Looks like Potter just can't stay away from us," he sneered in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled brutishly.

"What?" Harry cried. "Why would we want to be anywhere near you? We have just as much right to walk around as you, you know," he folded his arms over his chest and stood slightly in front of Cho in a protective stance. Draco rolled his eyes. It was best for him not to look directly at Potter when the Gryffindor looked so delightfully _sexy_ when he was angry. And yes, unfortunately, Draco had had that thought. There was no avoiding it from his consciousness.

"What are you lot sneaking around for, anyway?" Harry continued indignantly, unhappy that Malfoy should get in the way of his private walk with Cho. "Don't you have a Death Eater ice cream social to plan?"

"Ice cream social?" Draco retorted with a disbelieving look on his face. The corners of his mouth turned upwards. "For your information, Potter, Death Eaters do not hold ice cream socials," he told him, flashing Harry a superior smirk. "They hold garden parties, which are much more refined and elegant."

When Draco said those last few words, Harry felt an unsettling sensation in his stomach. Why did Malfoy have to make him feel so hot under the collar?! He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Whatever," he said, and took Cho's hand, trying not to blush as he did so. "Come on, Cho, let's just keep going," he huffed. He tossed his cloak with a dramatic swish in the air and set off along the shoreline, leaving the Slytherin trio watching them from behind. 

* * *

"What _are_ they doing here? It's got to be a conspiracy!" Harry fumed as he strode along the path at a much faster pace than Cho was used to walking. He didn't realize that he was dragging her by the hand, so caught up was he in thinking about his run-in with Malfoy.

"Bullocks, that's what it is!" he continued, "Ever since that incident with the hamster—no, he's _always_ been psycho, but lately he's more so, I think—and to think I _tried_ to make peace with him, and he acts like a total arse—oh wait, he's always been an arse—"

"Harry?" 

"And now today, what with that anorexic bit of fluff Parkinson saying all those suggestive things about us—it's no wonder half the school thinks we're—"

"Harry!"

"Oh, bloody hell, for all I know he could be trying to kill me—"

"HARRY!"

Harry stopped when he realized he was being shaken about the shoulders. Cho was standing in front of him, looking worried.

"Oh, sorry, Cho. What's up?"

"Harry, you were babbling."

"Was I?" he shrugged, trying to look nonchalant.

Cho gave him a thoughtful look and let go of his shoulders. "Would you like to talk about it?"

Harry pushed up his glasses and looked across the lake, shuffling his feet as he walked. "What's there to talk about?"

"Well, I could be wrong, but…you seem a little upset about Malfoy."

"Hmm," Harry replied eloquently. 

They walked in silence for a minute. 

"He just gets on my nerves, is all," Harry said abruptly.

"Oh?"

"I mean, everything he does seems to be something to do with me. He even said that he can't be happy unless he's doing something to make my life miserable. I mean, how sick is that? And sometimes he doesn't even have to say anything, it's just the way he looks at me that's just so…ooh! I can't explain it. It just drives me crazy. You know what I mean?"

"Hmm," Cho answered.

"What does 'hmm' mean?" Harry asked warily.

"It means an exhalation of air through the nose, usually in accompaniment with some thought which at the time of utterance has not yet taken the shape of articulated words," she replied, looking ahead of her as she walked, her hands in the pockets of her cloak.

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but she stopped him. "So, you like Danger Mouse? Do you have a favorite character? Mine has always been Penfold."

"_Penfold_?!" Harry exclaimed, and a conversation ensued about the merits and flaws of various characters in the muggle cartoon show. 

* * *

Ron and Hermione were exiting the library that evening when all of the sudden they were ambushed.

"Wh—Hey!" Hermione exclaimed as she found herself swung off to the side and up against the wall.

"Why, you!" Ron rushed to save her, but was himself held back by a pair of strong arms, which he struggled against with all his might.

"Quiet," said Crabbe, who was the one holding him back.

Goyle, who had cornered Hermione against the wall, held a book under her nose. "Can you read this?"

As Ron continued to struggle, Hermione took the book and looked it over in curiosity. She frowned, examining both front and back and inside covers, then at the series of glossy photographs set in the middle pages.

"Interlibrary loan from Durmstrang?" she asked. Goyle grunted in affirmation. "It's in Russian," she concluded, and handed the book back to him.

"I can't read Russian," she explained when Goyle continued to look at her expectantly. His face fell at the news.

"Thanks," he mumbled, and turned away. Crabbe was meanwhile holding Ron back with just his hand on Ron's forehead, and Ron kept trying to get past him to the point of looking extremely silly in his failure. When Goyle moved away he let go, and Ron rushed over to Hermione.

"Next time you won't get off so easily!" he growled at them, standing protectively in front of her.

"Wait," Hermione called after them, ignoring Ron. Goyle and Crabbe both turned around. "If you want to learn more about Josef Stalin, you probably want to look for a book that's been written since 1991. The book you have there is rather old, and the information is likely much more biased a source than you want to read."

Goyle nodded in gratitude, and they continued their way down the hall.

Ron turned to Hermione. "What the hell was that all about?"

* * *

End of Chapter 4

Notes:

_The Communist Manifesto_, written by Karl Marx and Frederick Engels. The other book Goyle was reading, _The Rise of Soviet Russia_, I don't have citation for. I just thought it sounded like an appropriate title for the sort of book he would be reading. As for the book in Russian—that is probably a 1930s-era book about Josef Stalin (Hermione would recognize his picture) written in the Soviet Union during his power—probably a biased source if Goyle wants to learn more about communism. LOL

Time: Ok, time seems to flit about in this series without much continuity. One day it's Septemper; next day, it's October…now it's late fall, gearing towards Christmas. Well, nobody's perfect. :P And after June 21, all this may become pointless. Who knows? Don't be surprised if all the characters jump from fifth to sixth year after the Christmas holidays. ^_~

Teen!Snape: Well, from _his_ perspective, Sirius wouldn't seem quite so nice as Harry thinks he is, now would he?

Exercising!Millicent: No, I'm not trying to flame her character. Yes, she is having trouble figuring out the exercise equipment, but it will be explained all in due time. All in due time…

Brown Charlies: I keep using this from Chapter 2. I hope it's not becoming a tiresome running gag…I rather like the idea of making it a drink though. ^_~

Danger Mouse: Is anyone too young to remember Danger Mouse? Well, if so, it was a British cartoon about a James Bond-esque mouse with an eyepatch and his friend Penfold, who was some kind of badger(?). It was truly a wonderful show…^_^ They used to show it on Nickelodeon in the USA but I'm not sure if they do anymore. But it's just the sort of 80s retro cartoon that you could expect to find on one of those tight girly-T-shirts…I wish I had a Danger Mouse shirt….

The Breakfast Club: Great teen angst movie. A must-see for anyone, I think…the connection here was made between Draco and the character John Bender (played by Judd Nelson). Not that they look anything alike, but…well? Can't you just see it? Especially after the second HP movie when Draco rips those pages out of a book, and my friends and I say "That Mo-lay really pumps my nads!" LOL Ok, so that wouldn't make any sense if you haven't seen it. So just watch it.

"She walks in beauty, like the night…" by George Gordon, Lord Byron. "She Walks in Beauty." LOL Crabbe is becoming more well-read…though he's missing a few lines here and there. Oh well, no one's perfect.

The scene by the lake: almost entirely lifted from Act II, Scene II of Hamlet by Mr. Shakespeare. I'm sure he must be rolling in his grave…but I had oh so much fun fitting it in with the Potter universe. ^_~

* * *

** Harry Potter and the Malicious Play **

** Part Four **

"I haven't seen yer in a while, Harry, but you're a bit further along than I would have expected, particularly in the middle," Hagrid said, patting his belly as he looked down at the eleven-year-old boy in the rocky fortress.

Dudley blinked up at him, paralyzed with shock.

"I'm—Harry?" he choked.

"Well, of course ye are! And yer going to the finest school of wizardry in the country!

"I'm—I'm Harry?" Dudley repeated stupidly.

"Now wait just a minute—" Vernon interjected, pointing his rifle at the half-giant.

"Dry up, Dursely, you great prune," Hagrid spat, and bent the gun out of shape. "Come on, Harry, let's go buy your school things."

"Wait!" Harry jumped out from his hiding place, but it was too late. Hagrid left the tower, pulling a bewildered Dudley by the arm. 

…And so beginneth the adventures of Dudley Dursely and the Sorcerer's Stone…

Hey Parents!

This summer, why not take the family on a vacation trip to

** Snapeland **

It's the happiest place on Earth!

Take a ride on a spinning cauldron! Or play everyone's favorite game,

"Name That Potion Ingredient!" 

Why not attend the Snapeland Parade, or check out the famous

Snape & Company Dancers? 

And don't forget the gift shop! Be the envy of all your friends back home when 

they see your souvenir Snape hat and matching keychain!

Kids, start bugging your parents today! 

* * *

Ok, so I was in a hyper mood when I thought of that one. :P 

Here's a teaser for Chapter Five, The Malfoy Family Gala Christmas Special: 

_Draco stopped on a page that listed recipes for hair dye potions. There was a color chart on the opposite page that listed not only natural hair colors, but a few bright, bold, __exotic_ colors. His eyes honed in on a shade of green called "Maui Meadows". It was bright, it was bold, it was green, and it was perfect. He looked up the corresponding potion recipe, and set himself to work. 

Please humor my addiction to reviews! I have a monkey on my back and it's feeding time. LOL …And artwork! The first person to create some artwork for this fic gets a prize. Heck, I'll give anybody a prize. Haven't decided what that prize will be yet though. Draw me something and I'll think about it. I have no shame.

--MCF


	5. The Malfoy Family Gala Christmas Special

The Slytherin Renaissance

** Chapter Five: "The Malfoy Family Gala Christmas Special"**

** By My Cat Frank**

Note: This chapter should probably be subtitled "The Narcissa Malfoy Show". Once I started writing lines for her, she pretty much took over the entire story. But in this fic, she's just the sort of super woman I'd like her to be. ^_^

Note Part Dva: This is the first chapter I've finished since OotP came out. So far, I don't think I strayed too far off…except for giving Narcissa the maiden name of Hornby. Who knew? Rowling, of course…how mean of her not to give me a heads-up. :P Anyway, this used to take place in fifth year, so now I'm jumping it up to sixth year. From this point on, at least, our main characters will be in the sixth year. Check within the story for some cheap humor aimed at this confusing break in realism.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and its characters, and universe, belong to J. K. Rowling and her corporation, her dog, her goldfish, and basically everyone except me. I think she would disagree with the direction I'm taking her characters, but, well…we can't have everything in life.

Warnings: Some slashy fantasy, a Death Eater board meeting, Whitney Houston, Crabbe abuse, Tchaikovsky, and vomit.

This Chapter's Malicious Play: It's a Wonderful Life, Lucius Malfoy!

Thanks to everyone who has viewed, reviewed, even struggled against the tides of Fanfiction.Net's weirdness for hiding the last chapter of this fic! Y'all are just too much, let me tell you. Chocolate-chocolate-hip cookies of pure admiration go to: Pisces, deb-sampson, orphne, MOI, Ron's Girly, Show, Captain-Emily, Tess, yuyin, VMorticia, Kelsey, Aishuu Shadowweaver, Sheron, FightsLikeACow, Slytherin Psyche, nightwing, Aurenne, amythest, reila, Vee-sempai, celestinne, Adia, Jadedragon, Kaylin, Fataldreams—Seducer of Fantasy, Catspook, Rosetta, Iris, Rosa Crouch, Caedesdeo, and rosalba! And also, this goes out to those special unknown people who managed to review Chapter 4, but whose reviews have been somehow erased from fanfiction.net's memory. I wish I could remember who you were! Everyone gets a cookie!!! 

(Yes, originally that was going to be chocolate-chocolate chip, but I mistyped…and I like the idea of hip cookies. Let's go with that.)

And now, our **FEATURE PRESENTATION:**

* * *

Those who had never been to Malfoy Manor before often created their own impression that the building itself would resemble some run-down, overly-huge Gothic mansion in a state of advanced decay, worthy of a story by Edgar Allen Poe. The rumor developed by these people—and there were indeed quite a few people who never had been there because they'd never been invited, and felt obligated to speculate about the gloominess of the place—had it that the grounds were overrun with half-dead man-eating plants, monstrous children-eating beasts, and that it was a life-risking venture to approach the establishment. The sky above the Manor was supposedly a perpetually dismal gray, and that the mournful ghosts of dead victims to ancient Malfoyan cruelty could be heard moaning when the foul-smelling winds blew their echoes across the moors. In legend, Malfoy Manor was a ghastly, horrid place.

Well, it was and it wasn't. In the summer, it was quite pleasant, and it wasn't always cloudy, but when the sun came out and warmed their patch of earth an afternoon spent in the gazebo was rather lovely. The air was never really foul, and the supposed moaning sounds—as Narcissa casually explained to guests—really came from some large piece of kitchen appliance which she really didn't understand but that the house-elves used to make fabulous calorie-free cappuccinos.

The garden, while not overrun with dangerous plants or beasts, occasionally grew beyond standards of decency in private areas of the estate. The areas where the Malfoys entertained were always trimmed and beautiful, arranged with a variety of colorful flowers, cherubic fountains and koi ponds. But in back groves the shrubs grew wild and harbored nasty tendencies to thwap passers-by with their branches. The children's playground had grown to such a bad state that the only thing to mark it as a children's playground was a barely-detectable tree swing hidden between the vines of devil's snare and crawling with bloodthirsty death beetles. The area was surrounded by poison ivy, poison sumac, and delicious-looking strawberries, which looked identical to the poison ivyberries sprinkled around them.

When he was ten, Draco mentioned this to his father. Lucius looked down at him and said, "Well, Draco, that's a sign that your time spent in childhood is over. Don't look back, son."

In winter, however, most of these out-of-control foliages had withered away, and snow covered the estate with a white, unmarred blanket that hid many of the less-desirable features of the Manor grounds from sight. While it was true that the Malfoys never decorated the outside of the mansion with colorful Christmas lights, and there was a sign on the front gate that clearly stated "No Caroling Under Penalty of Disembowelment," there was a cheerful Yule wreath on the front door. The Manor, while not glowing with Christmas cheer or emanating delicious warm baking smells, looked tidy and elegant in its own right.

On this particular winter's day, which—by an excellent coincidence—happened to be Christmas Day, the Manor was blanketed in a peaceful morning sleepiness. An eagle owl flew towards one of the high windows on the front side, and landed on the windowsill. It looked inside, hooted politely, and stuck its foot forward to the waiting hands of the room's alert occupant.

Narcissa blinked her eyes open and woke up. She stared at the expensive bedsheets before her as she slowly rose into a conscious state, thoughts unfogging themselves from groggy sleepiness.

She rolled over to her husband's side of the bed. It was cold and empty. She unconsciously shivered from the draft as she pushed away the warm down comforter and looked around the bedroom.

Lucius was already dressed. He was standing by the window, reading the letter which had just been delivered by the owl. He turned at the sound of movement and regarded his wife.

"Oh good, you're finally awake," he stated flatly and crumbled the letter into a ball. It caught on fire and burned away to nothing.

"Merry Christmas, love," Narcissa mumbled sleepily, pushing her hair away from her eyes.

"Yes, it _is_ Christmas," he replied, adjusting his tie in front of the full-length mirror, "Don't forget about our party tonight. I must leave soon to care of some..._other_ preparations, but I will need for you to see to the ballroom and dining preparations." He picked up a sheet of parchment from the dresser and handed it to her. "Here is the guest list, and a list of some of the Dark Lord's preferred foods. I have already had the invitations sent out last week, but you should arrange for enough space and refreshments for everyone. And whatever you do, make sure that no bread products will be served at the feast. The Dark Lord is allergic to wheat germ," he explained, "and absolutely NO holly in the decorations. He has a..._predisposition_ against holly."

"No holly, no wheat germ," Narcissa repeated numbly with the patient humor towards her husband that seventeen years of marriage had imparted in her. She glanced over the list Lucius had given her, her mind still waking up.

"Good," Lucius answered, and walked to the door. "Tonight will be very special. The Dark Lord has announced plans to initiate some new members. It is imperative that the Death Eaters recruit new blood, and Voldemort has indicated that he particularly wishes to induct Draco. So we need to—"

"W-what?" Narcissa choked. "_Our_ Draco?"

"Yes, of course," he answered impatiently.

"But he's so _ young_," she protested, even though she knew her arguments could not change her husband's mind.

Lucius frowned. "It's time our son became a man," he stated firmly. "If you continue to mother him, he will never grow up. Besides, this will secure his future success as a powerful wizard. It is a great honor that the Dark Lord would wish to induct him so soon. I wish you could understand that." He stared levelly at Narcissa. "I will see to all the important arrangements. Just see to the party details, and _do_ try not to screw things up too badly. The guests will begin to arrive around 7:30. I will see you shortly before then."

"Yes, dear." Narcissa spoke coldly from behind a polished veneer that hid the lump forming in her throat. Lucius turned to leave. "Wait, Lucius!" She called after him.

"Yes, what is it now?" He asked in irritation.

"Could you kiss me? It is Christmas, after all."

Lucius sighed, marched over to the bed, and pecked his wife roughly on the cheek. "Remember, no wheat germ," he repeated.

"No wheat germ." 

With that, Lucius exited the room and left Narcissa alone, sitting up in bed and clutching a sheet of parchment filled with what seemed to her to be the most trivial information anyone could expect on a Christmas morning. She sighed, rubbed her eyes, and got out of bed. She plopped down heavily in front of her vanity and buried her face in her hands.

After a minute, she raised her head and looked at her reflection in the mirror.

"Merry Christmas, Narcissa darling," she spoke softly, voicing the words she had so wanted to hear from her husband, "Even after all these years, I still love you. You and Draco are the two most important people in my life, and I would never let any harm come to either of you. I would never let the Dark Lord come between us," she continued. She knew she was babbling to herself, but her mind insisted _someone_ say what she wanted to hear. "And I would never, _ ever_ allow our only son to become a slave to the madman who filled my heart with hate and _destroyed-our-marriage_." These last words were said through clenched teeth.

She shook her head solemnly. If she had still been sleepy when she was talking to her husband, the idea that Draco might become a Death Eater had affected her like a bucket of ice water. She opened a drawer and pulled out a box labeled "Lady Wellington's Vitamin-Rich Calorie-Free Breakfast Chocolates". She delicately reached in, picked a cream-filled bonbon, and popped it in her mouth, closing her eyes in the small amount of pleasure the chocolate could provide. She put the box away, sighed resolutely, and began her morning toilette. She stared back at her reflection. "Very well, Lucius," she stated, her resolve growing, "perhaps I should show you what a mother can do.

"Echo!" She called, and a face rose to the surface of the mirror in front of her. 

"How may I be of service to you today, my lady?" Echo asked solemnly, gazing out into the room with empty, glassy eyes.

"I want to know more about my son," she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "What has the manor mirror's guild observed about him? Does he reveal any secrets when he's alone? Does he talk about anyone in particular?"

Echo looked at her pensively. "I can tell you what we know," he answered, speaking collectively for the mirrors of Malfoy Manor. "But first, I suggest that you talk to your son yourself, before spying on him."

Narcissa stared at him, dumbstruck. "Talk to my son? Without doing the proper research first? But—he's a _teenager_!" Echo looked at her impassively. "Do you really think it would work?" Narcissa asked doubtfully.

Echo opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. "No, no, let's just do it this way. Yes, of course I'll talk to him—I'm his _mother_, after all—but why not prepare myself with a little background information first? Come, come, now tell me what's going on with him!"

* * *

Draco was lying awake in bed, enjoying the relative peace that came from his solitude at home. His mind was busy, musing over the events of the past fall semester at Hogwarts and certain revelations he had recently experienced.

Chief among his musings was Potter. There was no denying it anymore; he felt a sick attraction to the unruly-haired apple of everyone's eye. Damn Potter. Potter would never know; he could never understand what Draco felt when they faced off on the Quidditch pitch, or in class, or in his dreams... Images of Potter came up unsummoned in Draco's mind: laughing with his little Gryffindor friends, smiling at Hagrid, scowling at Draco. No, it was best that Potter never know how he felt. But yet...

He let the image of Potter resurface in his imagination. It was a holiday morning and Draco had nowhere he had to be, nothing he had to do right away, but plenty of time to indulge in a little fantasy. He knew his parents would probably be busy planning their party for the evening. They had already celebrated Christmas the night before—well, as much as the Malfoys ever celebrated Christmas, which was an emotionless gift exchange and a fancy, overdressed dinner.

He wondered what Potter was doing at that moment. He was probably opening his presents in the Gryffindor common room, or laughing about with the other Gryffindors and showing off the horrid sweaters Mrs. Weasley had probably made for them all. Draco erased the image of other Gryffindors from his fantasy and focused on the picture of Potter opening his presents. Draco smiled wickedly and imagined himself inside a large wrapped box. 

_ He could see through a small hole in the side as Potter approached him and untied the knot on the ribbon around the package. Draco's heart pounded rapidly as Harry slowly, carefully pulled apart the wrapping paper. Draco stood inside, completely naked, breathing in short, silent breaths, as Potter took an eternity to unwrap the long, thin package._

Outside of the fantasy, Draco slipped a hand under the waistband of his pajamas, giving himself fully to his imagination.

_ Potter pulled off the wrapping paper very gently, slipped his fingers under the edges of the lid, and jerked it off suddenly. Draco gasped at the sharp movement, fully exposed to Potter and the bright sunlight coming in from behind him. Potter grinned. Draco smiled and stepped out of the box, lifting his arms to wrap around Potter's shoulders and place himself fully in his embrace._

_ "Merry Christmas, Harry Potter," Draco exhaled. Potter placed his hands on Draco's waist and began running them up and down the length of his sides. Draco sighed as Potter lowered his head and nibbled on his neck, flicking his tongue and placing small kisses on the pale, tender flesh. Draco tangled his fingers in Potter's hair and arched his back, urging Potter to continue._

_ Potter gently lowered Draco to the floor, and now they were both naked. Potter hovered over him, his hands roaming and his lips kissing every inch of Draco's body, getting closer and closer to that spot that so urgently needed Potter's attention..._

_ "Ohh, you're sooo sweeeeet, Harry!"_

_ Draco blinked. He hadn't said that. That had been a woman's voice. Potter stopped his ministrations and looked up. Draco followed his gaze and saw Cho Chang._

_ "Cho!" Potter jumped off of Draco and ran over to Cho._

_ "Potter, wait—"_

_ "Ohhh, I love you, Harry," Cho cooed, running her finger up and down Potter's chest. Draco was mortified to see that Cho was naked, too. "Why don't you let me show you the kind of love a woman can give you?"_

_ Potter moaned and kissed Cho hard on the lips. Draco watched helplessly as their tongues dueled roughly, Potter showing her a passion he hadn't shown him._

Draco groaned in frustration. He tried to rewind his fantasy back to the point before Chang showed up, but it was no use. Though she would never know it, Cho Chang had completely ruined Draco Malfoy's Christmas morning wank-off. 

"Damn the woman!" Draco punched his pillow. He leaped out of bed and paced his bedroom, looking around for the right object to smash against the wall. Instead, he threw himself onto the stool in front of the vanity his mother had given him for Christmas and glared at his reflection. His hair was tousled from sleep. He combed it back into its usual appearance, slick and form-fitting to his skull. He frowned.

"What's Cho Chang got that I haven't got, anyway?" He asked out loud, sulkily.

"Well, of course there is the obvious—" the mirror began to reply.

"I wasn't asking you!" Draco snapped. If there was anything he hated, it was a talking mirror that didn't know when to keep silent when he felt like talking to himself. Well, that and Cho Chang.

"Tsk tsk, no need to get so snitty," the mirror huffed.

"Just leave me alone."

"Fine, fine." After that, the mirror remained silent.

Draco was no fool. He knew that Chang had at least one or two major advantages over him, as long as Potter remained of the heterosexual persuasion. Still, he forced himself to wonder what set Cho Chang apart from all the other girls at Hogwarts. It was obvious to most of the student body—at least, as much as Draco could tell—that Potter was attracted to her, and she undoubtedly knew it. But yet she never used it to her advantage.

Draco had to admit that he did not know her personally, and knew precious little about her personality. However, he only needed to look at her to tell that she was exotically different from most of the other girls at school. It wasn't because of her race or ethnicity. Hogwarts was a very multi-cultural institution, and students of Asian descent were by no means a vast minority. Then again, Draco briefly wondered, Potter had attended the Yule Ball last year with Parvati Patil, so maybe he had a thing for Asian girls. But then, Potter hadn't seemed at all interested in Patil apart from the fact that they had to enter the dance together, so maybe that wasn't it after all.

No, Chang was exotic because she had her own unique sense of style. It was something in the way she presented herself on an everyday basis that stated, 'I don't care what you think. I'm doing my own thing and if you have a problem with it, tough.' She wore her raven-black hair short and spiky with neon-blue highlights. She usually wore some zany, off-beat jewelry that barely fit within the perimeters of the Hogwarts dress code and painted henna designs on her hands. Her glasses had these huge black rectangular frames that would have looked excessively dorky on anyone but herself (or maybe Potter—Draco sneered at the idea of them kissing and getting their glasses tangled). On weekends when students were free to wear whatever they wanted, Chang usually sported combat boots, tight jeans and even tighter T-shirts bearing strange messages like "Rainbow Brite Fan Club" or "Take Me Home I'm Delicious". She looked very strange to Draco, but she managed to pull off the look easily and no one questioned her about her style because she obviously didn't care what people thought about her. No wonder Potter must like her. The girl had moxie.

Draco thought about his own appearance in comparison. He wore the clothes his parents wanted him to wear, combed his hair in the way his father wanted him to, and carried himself the way a Malfoy should: formal, elegant, and proud. He dressed and behaved exactly the way his family and the rest of the world expected him to. He didn't do this because he wanted to, but he did it out of habit. The more he thought about it, the more he felt like an ass because he was too afraid to try something different. He didn't believe he could ever pull off Chang's fashion style, but that was because he had never tried and was afraid of what people would say if he did.

He had grown sick of his tired old appearance. He had had the same hairstyle for years, and it now seemed very old-fashioned and un-daring to him. His pale hair and complexion used to make him feel a step above his peers because it was a symbol of his aristocratic breeding—which in of itself might have been exotic, but he had nothing to do with it himself. His snobbishness got him nowhere with Potter. He found that he wanted to change his appearance and do something totally wild: he wanted people to recognize his style as something purely belonging to _Draco_ Malfoy. He wanted to catch people's eyes and let Potter know—let the _world_ know—that he wasn't afraid to go against the grain of tradition. He would do something completely different and unconventional, his parents be damned. In a surge of teenage rebelliousness, Draco decided he was going to be an individual.

With a newfound sense of purpose, he thumbed through the copy of _Magical Hair Care_ his mother had given him for Christmas. (_"Narcissa! Just what are you thinking, giving our son such froufrou Christmas presents?! A _MAN_ doesn't need those things!"_ His father had been less than happy with his mother's choice of presents. So what else was new?)

Draco stopped on a page that listed recipes for hair dye potions. There was a color chart on the opposite page that listed not only natural hair colors, but also a few bright, bold, _exotic_ colors. His eyes honed in on a shade of green called "Maui Meadows". It was bright, it was bold, it was green, and it was perfect. He looked up the corresponding potion recipe, and set himself to work. 

* * *

"Pooky!" Narcissa shouted, pulling her robe around her. She sat at a desk and jotted down some notes on a sheet of parchment. A small feminine house-elf wearing a pink gunnysack embroidered with flowers appeared at her side.

"Yes, mum?"

"Pooky, this is going to be a very busy day. I want you to take notes, so you won't forget anything that I tell you."

"Yes, mum," Pooky replied, and pulled a miniature notepad and quill out of thin air.

"Now, as you know, our Christmas party is this evening," Narcissa continued, handing a sheet of parchment to the house-elf. "This is the menu for the buffet line. Please note that there will be absolutely NO wheat-related food items served this evening. The focal point will be on the sushi platters, so tell the kitchen elves to arrange accordingly."

"...arrange accordingly," Pooky repeated, scribbling on her notepad. Narcissa handed her another sheet of parchment.

"This is the blueprint showing how I would like the tables to be arranged in the ballroom and foyer. The auto-playing harp quintet will go in the far corner, opposite the fireplace. Add a few extra chairs to the storage room adjoining the west wall in case we have need of them.

"I want Spicken to lead the cleaning committee," she continued, "be sure to tell him that I do not want to see a single particle of dust anywhere on the grounds by seven-o'clock. Oh, and it is freezing in here, so do tell Kreacher to raise the thermostat by three-o'clock."

"Three-o'clock."

"Now," Narcissa grinned conspiratorially at the house-elf, "after you have finished with that, I have a special job for you. I am entrusting you with the task because I believe you to be the most capable among our staff, and because I understand you have a penchant for adventure."

Pooky's eyes lit up. "Is you serious, mum?"

"Yes, Pooky," Narcissa smirked, and leaned in closely enough to whisper. "I want you to sneak into the Parkinson Estate," she explained, "and find out what Begonia will be wearing this evening. Report back to me as soon as you have identified her planned color scheme. I want her to clash completely with tonight's party decorations. It's the least I can do to repay her after what she did to me last summer at the Death Eater garden party."

Pooky grinned wickedly. "She will be going down, mum."

"I do hope so," Narcissa smiled, "Now, see to the list I have given you, and by the way, tell Verbena to prep the greenhouse for floral decorations. Hmm, I'd say orchids would look splendid in the ballroom, don't you? We can always change the colors depending on the Begonia variable. I have a lot still to do today to prepare for this evening and protect my son from becoming a future minion of evil, so let me know as soon as you have completed your mission. There, you have your instructions; set to work!"

"Yes, mum!" Pooky saluted her mistress and disappeared with an audible 'POP!'.

Narcissa stood up and brushed her hands as if she had just completed a large task, then set off for Draco's chambers. She walked briskly, her satin day-wear gown billowing around her. Her chin-length hair bounced in large blonde curls, and she fixed her lips into a small, determined line. She looked like a film noir movie actress from the 1940s, though she would never be aware of such a muggle reference.

As she approached her son's chamber door, she twisted the knob and spun into the room as gracefully as Ginger Rogers. The sight that greeted her, however, caused her to unleash a horrified scream that would put any Alfred Hitchcock heroine to shame.

* * *

And now...

A Note From the Author 

There are a few things in life that just cannot be explained in words if the reader has no background knowledge of the subject. For example, it's almost impossible to describe a piece of music to someone who has not heard it without playing the melody for them. It's one thing for me, as a writer, to ask readers if you are familiar with a refrain repeated throughout Tchaikovsky's __Swan Lake__. I could describe the refrain as a "haunting melody" that will give you goose bumps whenever you hear it. I could mention that it's a very familiar piece of music that most people would recognize once they heard it because it has been used countless times in movies and television. I could even say, "You know, it's what they play whenever that giant crow dude leaps out and scares people!" But if you as readers are not familiar with the music from __Swan Lake__, chances are that you will still have no clue what I am writing about.

The point that you need to get from this little narrative is that if you don't get it, you just don't get it. Normally, this is not a problem for most people. After all, it's impossible to know everything. With that thought in mind, we continue this chapter with a glimpse into the life of Lord Voldemort. 

Lord Voldemort had never appreciated muggle culture. He grew up with it during his childhood and summers away from Hogwarts at the orphanage, but as soon as he had been old enough he turned back on that life without so much as a goodbye. Of course, the story of Lord Voldemort's resentment toward muggles does not need retelling. But after he left the muggle world for good, he—to use role-playing terminology—lost his points in muggle pop cultural lore. What he did know about pop culture was extremely limited and dated to the 1940s and 50s. As a result, he was hopelessly, critically, vulnerably clueless about muggle life at the turn of the millennium.

And as he sat at the head of a long, expensive mahogany table looking around at the Death Eaters—his _TRUE_ family—this thought did not occur to him in the slightest. Nor would it occur to the Death Eaters, who had thoroughly rejected everything muggle, and so would not have recognized a muggle pop cultural reference if it jumped up and bit one of them on the...well, ahem. Anyway, if the Death Eaters were going to worry about anything concerning their Lord, it was why he seemed to be slipping in his mental faculties ever since he had failed to destroy Harry Potter for the—well, it would be impolite to say how many times it had been. After all, he _was_ the heir of Slytherin, and especially in a story about Slytherins that title deserved a certain degree of respect. So no matter how much the Death Eaters might have wondered about it, the word "senility" was completely, utterly, _not_ one which anyone felt necessary to bring up any time soon.

So anyway, there they were, sitting at a board meeting and deliberately not thinking about senility or muggle references. It was in a nice board room, set up at the Riddle house, and had become the headquarters for meetings of the Death Eaters' Inner Circle. He drummed his fingers on the edge of the table, waiting for one more arrival.

Lucius Malfoy entered the room, maneuvering a large crate full of rabbits in front of him with his wand.

Voldemort clapped his hands together in delight.

"Lucius! You brought me _BUNNIES_!!!" he exclaimed joyfully.

"Please forgive my lateness, my Lord," Lucius bowed, setting the crate of rabbits on the table in front of Wormtail, who looked at them apprehensively. Wormtail was allergic to rabbit fur. Lucius continued as Voldemort stood up and walked around the table to examine the bunnies. "I had planned to bring these rabbits to you as a gift, but their acquisition took longer than I had intended."

Voldemort opened the lid and pulled out a medium-sized, black-and-white rabbit. He grinned in an awkward sort of way, his thin, snakelike lips pulling back and showing his teeth. A couple of the Death Eaters grimaced inwardly at the sight.

He carried the bunny over to Nagini, who was sitting in the corner by the fireplace. Nagini raised herself excitedly, and Voldemort tossed her the bunny.

_ "//Atta girl,//"_ Voldemort coddled her in Parseltongue as she swallowed the cute little bunny rabbit whole. He petted her head. _"//Who's the sweetest little girl in the world?//"_

He turned back to the others. "Thank you, Lucius," he said, and Lucius took a seat near the head of the table with a smug look on his face. Voldemort eyed the rest of the Death Eaters. "At least Lucius understands that the way to a man's heart is through his snake."

This statement was met with silence. Snape concentrated on a small speck of dirt on the table. MacNair coughed gently. No one made eye contact with the Dark Lord.

"Very well," Voldemort continued, unfettered. "Let's begin the meeting, shall we?" Avery conjured a sheet of parchment and quill and prepared to take minutes.

Voldemort turned back to Lucius. "Have there been any new responses to our advertisement in the _Daily Prophet_?"

Lucius flipped through a small stack of paperwork. "Just these four, my Lord," he responded, handing the stack to Voldemort, who skimmed through the applications. "Three of them are recent Hogwarts graduates, and one who is currently employed in the Ministry of Magic."

"Hmm," said Voldemort, "Right then. We shall induct these three," he pulled out one application letter from the stack and handed it back to Lucius. "But not this one. He says he took Muggle Studies. Make sure they are in attendance at your party tonight. How are the party arrangements coming, Lucius?" 

"Very well, my Lord," Lucius answered. At the other end of the table, MacNair drew something on a scratch piece of parchment and showed it to Crabbe Sr.

"There will be no wheat germ, I trust?" Voldemort prodded.

"I have placed my wife in charge of coordinating this evening's menu," Lucius explained coolly.

"Ah, yes, your wife," Voldemort scratched his chin, looking vaguely disconcerted. "She truly is a gem, Lucius, a gem. But I really can't have any more wheat germ—if she lets me eat bread I'd be forced to kill her, of course—you can see what a bind I'm in—"

"Please be assured that I have instructed her as to your dietary restrictions, my Lord."

"And no holly?"

"And no holly," Lucius answered.

"Good, thank you. And the other preparations...have you arranged for our Induction ceremony this evening?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"With the ingredients necessary for the Induction potion?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"And the piñata?"

"Filled with small muggle children." 

"Excellent." Voldemort pressed the tips of his fingers together in satisfaction. "And all of you—will your children be present this evening?" He looked pointedly around the table.

Several heads snapped up, as the others realized that they were being spoken to. Those who had been paying a dim degree of attention nodded; those who hadn't looked at the others first, then nodded their heads to pretend like they knew what was going on.

"Good, good," Voldemort said, then turned to Lucius. "And you, Lucius, we'll be inducting your son, too, this evening, of course?"

"Of course, my Lord."

"Wonderful! I must say that it's a terrific thing to see such talented young people to follow in our footsteps." He looked around the room, a thoughtful expression crossing his twisted, snakelike features. "I believe the children are our future," he deadpanned. "We must teach them well, and let them lead the way." Several Death Eaters nodded in agreement, unsure what the Dark Lord meant but believing that it would do them a good service to agree. "Wouldn't you agree, Snape?"

Snape looked like he was considering his words carefully—or maybe he was suffering from a sudden abdominal pain. It was difficult to say which. "Yes, certainly, my Lord."

"Yes," Voldemort continued, lapsing into a strange reverie. "Let the children's laughter remind us of what we used to be. Well, I think that's enough for now. We'll reconvene this evening at the Malfoy family's Christmas gathering." 

The Death Eaters each respectfully saluted the Dark Lord in turn, then disapparated. 

* * *

"_Mother!!"_ Draco exclaimed, blushing hotly at his mother's intrusion. "Don't you ever knock?!"

Narcissa smoothed her hair, regaining her cool demeanor. "Of course not. Malfoys never knock," she drawled. She frowned, staring at her son. "But _what_ are you _DOING?!"_

Draco stood in front of the vanity wearing a towel over his shoulders and dragonhide gloves on his hands. One hand was holding an applicator bottle filled with bright neon green hair dye, and the other hand was trying desperately to keep a large blob of dye from dripping further down his forehead. Half of his head was erratically covered in green splotches, and his ears, neck, and various spots on the vanity and rug were stained with the dye.

"I wanted to do something different," he answered nonchalantly, setting the applicator bottle onto the vanity.

"Oh, sweetie," Narcissa sighed, dropping herself into an armchair. "It's just not your color. You're a _winter_. A lighter shade would suit your coloring much better—like mint, for example." She pulled out her wand and waved at the stains until the area was free of green splotches.

Draco collapsed onto the stool and released a heavy, put-upon sigh. This had not gone at all like he had planned. 

"Were you trying to look like a radioactive leopard, dear?" Narcissa asked, dripping sarcasm.

"He wants to look more like Cho Chang," the mirror interjected.

"I do not!"

"Who's Cho Chang?" Narcissa asked, intrigued.

"I just wanted to give myself some highlights!"

"Like Cho Chang's, only greener," the mirror pointed out.

"Nobody asked _you_, did they?" Draco snapped.

"I'd like to know—" Narcissa began.

"Fine, fine, don't listen to me, what do I know? I'm just a mirror, after all, but just so's you know, I pick up a lot just by observing things, like how you talk out loud when you—"

"ERNESTINE!" Narcissa exclaimed.

"Yes, ma'am?" the mirror answered, her voice lowered a notch.

"A good mirror knows when to be quiet," she sang _sotto voce_.

"Yes, MA'AM!" Ernestine the mirror responded, and remained silent for the rest of the mother/son encounter.

Narcissa breathed a sigh of relief, then waved her wand at Draco's hair. The green potion splotches disappeared and his hair naturally resumed its usual sleek style. She looked at her son pointedly.

"So, who is this Cho Chang person, and what makes him think he can compete with my baby?"

Reluctantly, Draco found himself explaining all about Cho Chang, carefully avoiding certain details like her femininity and—of course—Harry Potter. Narcissa listened with rapt attention, her eyebrows furrowing in concentration. Then she sat forward and clasped her hands together, and Draco was almost certain that he caught a glint of triumph in her eyes.

"Very well, Draco, very well," she said finally, "It's time that you and I had a serious mother-to-son talk. I think it's clear that you're old enough to learn the truth about your heritage, and if we give you a bit of training over the rest of the holidays, you will effortlessly be able to blow this Cho out of the water." She grinned, and Draco joined her, feeling his confidence beginning to rise.

"The first thing you need to understand," she continued, "is that you're not a pureblood wizard."

Draco blinked. "W-what?"

"You're not a pureblood wizard, because you're not a pureblood human."

"Oh," he quickly sighed in relief. "Then, what—"

"My mother—your grandmother—was a veela," she explained. "This would mean that you are one-quarter veela, but since both my family and your father's have had a long history of marrying into veela families, it is difficult to ascertain exactly how much of our blood is veela."

"But I'm pureblood magical, right?"

"Oh yes, you're quite magical," Narcissa agreed. "Your father has never wanted you to know about this because he has determined that the ways of pureblood wizards are the best, and so he has done everything in his power to hide his own veela heritage. He wanted you to grow up without any knowledge of your true identity so that you could better portray the image of perfect wizarding elitism."

Draco smirked, then a thought occurred to him. "Mother—this doesn't mean that—well, will I have to mate for life by the time I turn eighteen, or else I'll die without having a human to tie my powers to?"

"WHAT?!" Narcissa exclaimed in outrage. "Goodness, no!" She shook her head. "Your father really must have told you some wild stories to turn your mind against veelas. No, no, you don't have to mate for life, and you certainly will not die if you don't have sex. But you have inherited certain talents and abilities which you have not yet fully realized, and I can help you there. You have natural charm, which you can build upon with training. There are also a few spells, potions, and other abilities that you can use to add to your repertoire." She grinned. "By the time I'm done with you, I dare say that Harry Potter won't stand a chance against your allure."

Draco's eyes lit up, but then he caught himself in surprise. "No—You've got it wrong—I'm not—I mean, I don't—not Po—"

"Oh, I already know all about it, dear," she answered, cutting him off. "I talk to the mirrors, remember? Mirrors never lie." She rose from the chair and stepped towards the vanity, standing behind him.

"That's right!" Ernestine piped up enthusiastically. 

"Shh," Narcissa told her. "Oh, don't worry, Draco—your father has no idea about any of this. Besides," she continued, looking at her son through the mirror and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, "He seems like one of the best young wizards in the world, and for _my_ son, nothing less than the best will do." Draco instantly relaxed, and his face began to soften into a warm, genuine smile. She gave him a small peck on the cheek and gently ran her fingers through his hair.

"Now, the first thing we need to do is give you a makeover before the party tonight. And by the time you go back to school, you'll be the best-looking fifth-year at Hogwarts."

"Mother, I'm in sixth year now." 

Narcissa looked startled. "What?" 

"I'm in sixth year."

"I thought you were in fifth!"

"I'm sixteen, Mother." Draco answered patiently, but there was a hint of irritation in his voice.

Narcissa slapped her forehead. "Sixteen!" she exclaimed. "My son is sixteen, and where have I been?" She felt a stab of pain in her chest.

Draco shrugged indifferently, apparently used to his mother's absense.

"I know," Narcissa answered her own question, laying her hands on Draco's shoulders. "I'm sorry, Draco. I wish I had been around for you more in the past, but I want to do more for you now. Draco," she continued, her expression serious, "you should know that your father has plans for you, plans that I'm not sure that I want you to follow—"

"He wants me to become a Death Eater, doesn't he?" Draco interrupted.

Narcissa studied his face. "Yes, he wants to have you inducted tonight. How did you know?"

Draco frowned. "I suspected he did, when he said he wanted to introduce me to some important contacts this Christmas," he explained. He turned around to face her. "Mother, I don't want to have to—I mean, he can't make me, can he?"

Narcissa was surprised by the note of desperation in his voice. She looked at him, and a soft smile graced her expression. She felt like a weight had been lifted from her chest—it wasn't too late for her son, after all. He would not necessarily turn into his father, and as long as she could keep him safe from the Dark Lord she could still steer him in the direction she wanted him to follow.

"Leave this evening to me," she answered softly. "I'll find a way to prevent you from joining them tonight, but please try to keep yourself as distant from them as you can. I know, it's hard, with your father dragging you in, but I'll try to stop it as much as I can. You don't need to follow a wizard like _that_," she wrinkled her nose in distaste at the thought of Voldemort. "I don't want you to ever become a slave to that—that—man," she spat, unable to find an appropriate word to describe him.

Draco sighed in relief. "Thanks, Mother," he said.

Narcissa turned his chair back around to face the mirror. She sifted her fingers through his hair, lifting the strands away from his scalp. "Now, let's look through that book I gave you. I think that what we want is a style with a bit of body to it."

"Mistress Narcissa!" Pooky apparated into the room with a loud pop, and kneeled on the floor before them.

"Pooky!" Narcissa exclaimed, pulling herself apart from Draco's hair. "What news do you have of Begonia Parkinson?"

"If you please, mum, she's laid out an emerald toga for tonight's event," Pooky revealed.

"A toga, eh?" Narcissa tapped her finger on the vanity, considering this information. "Pooky, instruct the house-elves to decorate the ballroom in a Roman theme. Lay out emerald tablecloths, alter the columns and moulding to a Roman plaster appearance, and tell all the house-elves to change the color of their tea towels to emerald. If you can get everyone to arrange their tea towels to look more like togas, that would be perfect."

"But—mum—Pooky thought you—"

"I've changed my mind," Narcissa smirked, "Begonia is not going to clash with our party decorations; she is going to match." 

"Oh, and one more thing, mum—"

"Yes, Pooky?"

"It's Kreacher, if you please, mum, he's hiding himself in the attic again."

Narcissa sighed. Draco rolled his eyes. This was not the first time they had had problems with the newest house-elf on staff. Kreacher refused to obey anyone except Narcissa, and did not cooperate well with the other house-elves. "Very well," she said, "tell him that if he does not come down and help the rest of you, I will personally deliver him to the doorstep of my sister, Bellatrix." 

Pooky's eyes widened and she nodded her head in understanding, then disapparated.

Narcissa turned her attention back to Draco. "Ah, now, where were we? Oh, your hair!"

* * *

The time of the party was at hand. Narcissa had left Draco with instructions on how to finish his makeover, then oversaw the decoration of the ballroom, making last-minute changes and alterations until she was satisfied with its appearance. She was pleased to find that all the house-elves were decked in festive emerald tea towels, which had been arranged to look like togas. All of her directions as to the food, tables, music, and decorations had been followed to the letter. The ballroom had been transformed to look like an ancient Roman palace, the orchids replaced with Mediterranean-themed floral arrangements. There was not a sprig of holly in sight, nor were there any dishes containing wheat germ on the buffet line; instead, the food consisted primarily of sushi platters and other non-wheat-related foods.

After seeing to all this, Narcissa had left to dress herself, then headed down to meet her husband in the entrance hall to greet the soon-to-arrive guests. Lucius looked up as she descended the stairs, dressed in a champagne-colored gown that shimmered as she moved. Her hair was gathered in a loose upsweep, glittering with strategically-placed diamonds and sapphires that matched her equally brilliant necklace and earrings. She joined her husband on the main floor, frowning at his outfit. Lucius was dressed in a dark green fitted suit trimmed with black silk.

"Oh, Loochie," Narcissa pouted. "Why didn't you put on the outfit I laid out for you? Now we won't match." She reached up to adjust his ascot.

Lucius growled softly in irritation, and pushed her hands away. "How many times have I requested you to refrain from using that silly name?"

"What—'Loochie?' You didn't always mind. I remember a time when you seemed to _like_ being called that."

"Times change, Narcissa."

Narcissa sighed. "That they do, _Lucius_." She secretly thought that Lucius had changed more than the times.

"Where is Draco?" Lucius asked, looking displeased that their son was not yet present to greet the arriving guests.

"He is still getting ready," Narcissa answered. "Have you spoken with him about your plans with the Dark Lord?"

Lucius studied his fingernails. "No, I haven't. The Dark Lord feels it would be best to keep the induction a surprise. He has been watching Draco from a distance for some time now, and has come to think of Draco as a godson," he answered proudly. "He's even planned to give our son a Christmas present. It's an unprecedented honor."

"Hmm," Narcissa replied, digesting this information. "Why has he singled out _Draco_ so specifically? It sounds terribly suspicious, if you ask me."

"And no one will," he responded coldly. "The Dark Lord must have his reasons."

"Yes we must hope that he does. Has he explained to you yet his reasons for continuing to pursue the teenage boy he hasn't been able to kill, or why he let you stay in Azkaban for three months after he freed the Dementors?"

A visible twitch crossed Lucius's face. Narcissa smirked, feeling like she had finally gained some leverage where she had lost control many years before.

"Now is not the time to discuss such matters, when our guests may arrive any minute." He fixed her with a cool glare.

Narcissa quickly studied the timepiece on the wall. "Oh, I think this is a perfect time to discuss such matters, Lucius. Nobody shows up on time for parties anymore. I'd like to know why you put so much trust in an old man who can't even—"

But Narcissa's question was cut off as a loud popping noise announced the apparation of three people into the entrance hall. She and Lucius turned to see David, Begonia, and Pansy Parkinson. Begonia was, in fact, wearing an emerald green toga, which exactly matched the ones worn by the Malfoy house-elves. 

"Oh, Begonia, David, and Pansy! How _punctual_ of you!" Narcissa cried as she rushed over to embrace the guests, hiding her annoyance that their appearance should prevent her from having a long-overdue talk with her husband. "It's been too long since we've seen each other, hasn't it?"  
"Oh, I'd say since the garden party back in July," David answered politely. 

Begonia smirked evilly. "Had any dangerous encounters with croquet mallets lately, Narcissa? I still remember seeing you on our lawn—haven't laughed so hard since—"

"Croquet is so last season, wouldn't you agree?" Narcissa quipped, steering them into the ballroom.

* * *

As the evening progressed, the ballroom filled with England's most elite wizarding families. The Roman motif proved to be a hit with the vast majority of the guests, Begonia Parkinson being the only exception. Narcissa wandered over to where Begonia was hovering by the buffet line. 

"Really, Narcissa, _sushi_?" Begonia chided mercilessly. "What does sushi have to do with Rome? Nothing! Really, your skills in planning a theme party leave much to be desired."

Narcissa was about to answer with a snide retort, when Avery Nott approached them and handed Begonia a tumbler half full of ice.

"Scotch on the rocks," he muttered, looking everywhere but at Begonia.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked him, a note of irritation in her voice.

Avery looked confused. "I said, Scotch on the rocks. I want a refill." He repeated himself a little louder, thinking that maybe she was slightly deaf.

Begonia was furious. She threw the tumbler at his feet, where it shattered into a mess of broken glass and ice cubes. "I AM NOT A HOUSE-ELF!" she shouted, attracting the attention of everyone in the ballroom. She whirled around to face Narcissa, who was desperately trying to suppress her laughter. "That's the third time in less than an hour! Why, I _never_—mark my words, Narcissa, you will pay for this!" With that, she stormed off to the bathroom.

"Honestly, Begonia, what am I to do if you dress like my house-elves?" Narcissa called after her. Avery skulked away, trying to avoid the looks people were giving him. Narcissa smiked evilly, charmed by her accomplishment.

"Congratulations, Narcissa," a deep, velvety voice spoke from behind. She whirled around and found herself face-to-face with Severus Snape. "This is the only Christmas party I have ever attended where I had to wonder if Christians would be thrown to the lions for entertainment."

"Severus!" She exclaimed, secretly glad that the man had come out of his shell enough to approach her. She had seen him earlier hovering near the wall, looking shy and too apprehensive to talk to people. But if anyone could bring out the best in Snape, it was her. 

Just then, the auto-playing harp quintet began to play a tango. "Will you dance with me?" she asked, looking up at her son's Potions professor.

Snape smiled a rare smile and took her hand. Although it was a surprise to most people, he was quite capable when it came to ballroom dancing. He was no Fred Astaire, but was capable, nonetheless. This particular dance was the Malfoy Tango, which Narcissa arranged in honor of the visiting branch of the Malfoy family which had moved to Argentina in the mid-1940s, and because she knew that it was one of the few dances Snape was particularly good at.

* * *

Draco entered the ballroom as a small hush came over the crowd. He smiled to himself, catching glimpses of whispers as people gossiped about his new appearance. 

His hair was not slicked back, or green; instead, a cascade of silver-blond hair covered one side of his forehead. The other side fell tamely over his scalp—all in all, it was a light, airy style that seemed to float around him and framed his face nicely. He gracefully sauntered over to the buffet line and poured himself a cup of punch.

"Oh, Draco, I love your new look," Pansy cooed, sliding up next to him. She was wearing a sparkly lavender dress with a short, fluffy skirt that almost resembled a tutu.

"Thank you, Pansy," Draco answered politely—not warmly, but not irritably either. "You look..." he trailed off, trying to find an appropriate description.

"Like a Sugar Plum Fairy," Crabbe winked, finishing Draco's line with a flirtatious grin. He had just approached the two of them, and looked on at Pansy in great admiration.

Pansy beamed. "Why, thank you, Vincent," she said, looking him up and down appraisingly. Crabbe was not half as ugly as most girls claimed him to be, though his looks were nothing compared to Draco's.

"Crabbe," Draco turned to his sidekick, "where is Goyle, anyway? Shouldn't he be here tonight?"

Crabbe frowned. "He got sent back to Hogwarts," he answered, shaking his head. "He owled me this morning. Said that he got in a fight with his old man and called him a sycophantic automaton. After Mr. Goyle looked up the words, he got so mad he sent him back to school for the rest of vacation." Draco raised his eyebrows at this revelation. "He's not upset about it, though," Crabbe continued, leaning in so that only they could hear what he was saying. "Says he's reading more political theory. He quoted some muggle named Gandhi and says he's going to read about Eastern religion next." 

Draco chuckled. "If we're not careful, by the time we come back from vacation he'll be trying to get us to meditate with muggles or something!"

Pansy clucked her tongue, upset that the attention had been taken away from her. "Vincent, could you be a dear and pour me a cup of punch?" she asked, giving Crabbe her sweetest smile.

Crabbe blushed hotly. "Of course," he grinned, and left the two of them alone.

Pansy turned to Draco. "Draco, look up for a second."

"You are shameless, you know," Draco told her, "you know he has a crush on you."

"You say it like it's a bad thing. Now, look above our heads." Draco humored her and looked up. _Oh shit._ There, above their heads, was a sprig of mistletoe dangling from the ceiling. Pansy slithered closer to him until her face was mere inches away from his. "Kiss me, Draco."

"Draco!" He turned his head, grateful to whomever was going to save him from this situation, until he saw that it was his father who was beckoning him.

Lucius stood about fifteen feet away from them and motioned to Draco. Standing next to him was none other than Voldemort. Draco groaned inwardly and walked towards them. He heard Pansy whine in annoyance behind him, followed by Crabbe approaching with the punch.

"Here you go, Pansy," he said, handing her a cup.

"Yes, cheers, thanks a lot," she snapped. Crabbe looked momentarily heartbroken, but he hid the emotion quickly enough.

"What's going on?" Millicent Bulstrode asked as she walked up to the two of them, interrupting the awkward moment.

"Malfoy's going to talk with Voldemort," Crabbe whispered. The three of them looked on at the exchange.

* * *

Draco approached the spot where his father and Voldemort were standing. He put on his most benevolent face, hiding his revulsion at the Dark Lord.

"Ah, young Draco, what a pleasure it is to see you again!" Voldemort exclaimed. He was holding a Christmas present the size of a shoebox.

"The pleasure is mine, my Lord," Draco answered cordially, and bowed slightly.

"Never mind, never mind," the old man replied jovially, "we will have more time to talk later. For now, I just want to wish you a merry Christmas." He handed Draco the present.

Draco accepted it, disbelief evident in his features. He never would have thought that the Dark Lord would be the Santa type. Curious as to what kind of dark magic Voldemort would offer as a gift, he carefully unwrapped the package and lifted the lid of the box.

It was a nutcracker doll.

"Oh..._wow,_" Draco managed to say.

"Ah! You see? You see, Lucius? I _told_ you he'd like it!" Voldemort clapped his hands ecstatically. 

If Draco had been an anime character, a large sweat bead would have suddenly appeared on the side of his head. Regardless, he tried his best to show his appreciation. "Th-thank you, my Lord," he stuttered. 

"You flatter us, my Lord," Lucius told Voldemort obsequiously.

"No need for that," Voldemort stopped him with a wave of his hand. "Now, where is that lovely wife of yours? Ah, there she is, dancing with Snape!" With that, he and Lucius went off in search of Narcissa, leaving Draco to return to his group of friends, armed with an old-fashioned nutcracker doll.

"Is it magical?" Crabbe asked, examining the doll. Draco shrugged, still dumbfounded by the experience.

Millicent laughed. "I bet you could eat a lot of nuts with that, eh, Malfoy?"

"Stuff it, Bulstrode," Crabbe snarled. He shrugged and handed the nutcracker back to Draco. "I guess you should feel flattered," he decided, "you seem to be the only one of us worthy of getting a Christmas gift from an evil madman hell-bent on world-domination."

Draco chuckled. "Funny, that," he answered non-commitally.

* * *

As Snape spun her around the dance floor, Narcissa remembered why she missed his presence. "It's been too long since we talked, Severus," she whispered, as they danced practically cheek to cheek.

"Since before you were married," Snape responded, an enigmatic expression on his face. He spun her out in a circle, then pulled her back to him.

Narcissa sighed. "So much time has been wasted, then." Her expression grew serious. She looked into his eyes as they danced, moving together fluidly. "Severus? I know this sounds absurd, seeing as how we haven't seen much of each other over the years, but…I have a favor to ask," she said nervously, breaking eye contact to look over Snape's shoulder.

Snape looked at her, encouraging her to continue. 

"It's my son," Narcissa sighed. "I'm worried about him, about what my husband plans for him. You're around him so much more than I am. I just want to know that he'll be looked after—that someone is there to look after him, protect him from becoming…" she trailed off, unable to finish. She caught herself. "Never mind—it's too much to ask. Forget I said—"  
"Narcissa," Snape interrupted, "I already do."

She looked into his eyes again, and was startled to see the sincerity in them. All this time, while Draco had been at Hogwarts, Snape had been keeping an eye out for him, trying to prevent him from becoming too much like his father. 

Narcissa smiled. The air around them felt too heavy, and she felt like she had to laugh to break the seriousness. Something seemed wrong about their dancing: They danced like old school friends who hadn't met in years, unspoken emotions hovering around them as they performed the tango. If Narcissa were not a married woman, she was certain that it would have felt like a very romantic, sexy atmosphere spinning around them, catching them up in a mood which would have been totally wrong for them. She was beginning to feel lightheaded.

"I must look like a fool," she laughed sardonically. "I'm just a helpless woman trapped in a loveless marriage, with a son I'm estranged to." She wasn't sure why she was saying this to Snape, but the words seemed to leave her lips without warning. "You're lucky, Severus. You never got married, so you're free to be with whomever you choose," she said.

"The woman I love was never free for me to choose," Snape answered mysteriously, and dipped her. Time seemed to freeze as Narcissa looked up into his eyes, and he did not pull them back up right away; instead, they both seemed to hover there, the air around them growing increasingly heavier. It was like she was seeing Snape in a new light, not as a distant school friend, not as the teacher of her son, but something wholly different and dangerously forbidden. Narcissa unconsciously stopped breathing, a strange, unfamiliar tension mounting between them.

Suddenly a chilling shadow fell over the two of them. "Narcissa," hissed an awfully familiar voice, "how lovely to see you again. And such a dancer! Yes, Lucius certainly is lucky to have you. Wouldn't you agree, Lucius?" It was the Dark Lord himself, standing next to Lucius, who had apparently been steering him around the party.

"Yes, of course," Lucius answered coldly, glaring at Snape. Snape avoided his eyes and pulled Narcissa upright again, stepping arm's length away from her. Narcissa frowned, partially disappointed at the intrusion yet relieved that the awkward moment between them was over.

"Right! Well, then, Lucius, I dare say it's time. If you'd just give me your arm," Voldemort said.

Lucius dutifully held out his left arm, raising his sleeve up to his elbow. Voldemort grabbed his write and pressed a finger into Lucius's Dark Mark, signaling to the Death Eaters that it was time to move into the Malfoy cellar for their Induction ceremony. They were accompanied by three new inductees.

"That's Marcus Flint!" Pansy exclaimed, pointing at one of them. Marcus was walking out with the other Death Eaters.

"Come along, Draco." Lucius placed a hand on Draco's shoulder and pointed him towards the door. Draco paled, sparing a glance at his mother.

Narcissa froze. She hadn't completely decided on how to best excuse Draco from the initiation that would inevitably take place momentarily. She looked around to make sure no one's eyes followed her movements, and subtly waved her wand at her son.

Draco stopped and stood still for a moment, his face turning a pale shade of green.

"Draco?" Pansy simpered, watching her boyfriend in concern. Draco turned away from her gaze and held a hand to his stomach. Then a second later he retched on the floor.

"Ugh!" Pansy exclaimed, backing away from the pile of the vomit on the floor that Draco proceeded to add to.

"Wow, that is unbelievably gross," Millicent Bulstrode commented in sick amusement, standing behind Pansy. "Looks like he ate the squid roll. Watch out, he's splattering it everywhere."

"Draco!" Lucius yelled sternly at his son, as if Draco had caused this embarrassing spectacle on purpose just to ruin his glory. Draco failed to respond, the contents of his stomach doing the talking.

Draco covered his mouth and looked up with a pained expression at the crowd which was gathering around him, staring in sick fascination. He privately wished they would all drop off the face of the Earth and leave him alone to vomit all his bodily organs in peace. A house-elf named Spicken materialized next to him and began cleaning up the mess.

"Tsk! Such inappropriate party behavior—and from my own son, no less!" Narcissa's voice rang through the ballroom as she broke through the crowd and put her arms around her son, helping him up from his kneeling position. "Come along, Draco. You're much too ill to stay here, and as your mother I _insist_ that you go to bed—that cellar is much too cold and damp for your current state." She turned to her husband. "It will have to wait," she said, "he's much too sick right now." Lucius frowned and opened his mouth as if to say something, but remained silent.

Draco avoided meeting anyone's gaze, but mumbled something incoherent. "Oh, dear, are you going to throw up again?" Narcissa asked in a soft, motherly tone. Draco nodded, all of his pride forgotten. Narcissa grabbed a nearby antique vase from a stand by the wall and held it in front of him just before Draco volunteered more of his dinner.

Narcissa laughed lightly and tossed a mock-exasperated expression to the other wives and mothers milling around, watching the spectacle, minus Begonia Parkinson: she was still hiding in the bathroom. "A mother's work is never done!" Narcissa tossed out in a singsong voice and shrugged lightheartedly, as if this display was a demonstration of the silly sort of trouble that her son gave her on an everyday basis. 

With that, she steered Draco out the door, holding the vase in front of him.

* * *

"Mother, I feel ill—" Draco started, then stopped at the bottom of the stairs and vomited again into the vase.

"Yes, of course you do, dear," Narcissa replied automatically, still holding the vase with one hand and rubbing the other hand soothingly over Draco's shoulders.

"You did that on purpose." He started to look up, but the moment seized him again.

"The vase, dear, the vase," she instructed, "Oh, what a shame, your Aunt Wednesday picked it out," she thought out loud, looking at the ceramic vessel with a critical eye. "Then again, there's no accounting for taste. This is the best use we've ever found for it, I suppose. Come on, up the stairs."

She helped her son climb the stairs slowly, supporting his weight with an arm around his shoulder. Draco groaned.

"Yes, I know, sweetie. It's called 'tough love'. Best just to suck it up, keep a stiff upper lip, and all that."

Draco clutched the vase and showed her exactly how he felt about that. His entire head was bright pink from the exertion, and his face showed purple spots from the broken blood vessels. He did not feel at all well, and looked even worse. He sighed tiredly, and put all of his effort into climbing the stairs and walking the mile-long hallway to his chambers. At least, the journey seemed to him like well over a mile in his current state.

When they finally reached his room, he collapsed tiredly in his bed. A house-elf appeared with a draught of sickness potion, which Narcissa took and held up to Draco's lips.

"Drink this," she told him in her soft, soothing motherly voice. "It will ease your stomach and help you sleep it off." Draco downed the potion while Narcissa rubbed her hands soothingly on his back again. She placed the empty cup on the nightstand and tucked her son into bed. She rested her palm gently on his forehead, pushing the hair away from his face.

"I am sorry, sweetie," she whispered. Draco looked up at her. "Everything will be better in the morning," she continued. "You will feel like your perfect, handsome young self again, and I will begin to teach you the charms that are your legacy." She smiled, the love showing plainly on her face. She did not feel like she had many things in life worth living for, or many people worth loving, but her son ranked highest on her list. She would do everything she could for him, and give him all her love and wisdom. "We will begin by teaching you how to brew a _ shiimase_ potion, and how best to use it."

"A _shiimase_ potion?"

"It's a flirtation enhancement," she explained, "not exactly a love potion _per se_, but...it will certainly be _suggestive_ to whomever you wish to use its powers for." Draco smiled and closed his eyes.

"Sleep well, Draco," she whispered, and moved towards the door. Draco opened his eyes.

"Mother?" Narcissa stopped and looked at her son. 

"Yes, dear?"

"Good night...and thank you."

She smiled. "You're welcome." She turned off the light and closed the door behind her. Draco closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, thinking pleasant thoughts about flirtation enhancement potions, and how they might wonderfully affect a certain young wizard.

* * *

MCF Notes: 

As far as Draco's new "look" is concerned, I've been imagining it to look like Ash Lynx's post-makeover hairstyle in Volume 5 of Banana Fish. For those of you not familiar with Banana Fish, it's a shoujo manga series. Check it out!!!

Voldemort is quoting from the song, "The Greatest Love of All," by Whitney Houston.

What Narcissa did with a croquet mallet at the Parkinson's Death Eater garden party last summer is still a mystery, but apparently it was rather embarrassing.

The veela thing: I know, I know, the veela theme has been really popular this past year. It's been around before, but lately there has been a surplus of fics revolving around the idea that Draco matures as a veela and sets his sights on Harry. Would you believe that I actually planned to make Draco part veela when I originally created the outline for The Slytherin Renaissance over 1 ½ years ago, before Frizzy first published Magnetic Attraction? Maybe not. I don't expect you to believe me, but there it is. In a way it's my own fault for taking so friggin' long to write this fic. In light of the popularity of this theme, I considered taking it out, but the idea is too central to Draco's plot. However, rest assured that my version will not come too close to Frizzy's or other author's fics (I hope, anyway—I haven't read them all!). I was kind of spoofing Frizzy's Magnetic Attraction when Draco asks Narcissa about having to choose a mate. ^_~ Draco is going to have some tricks up his sleeve, but he's still going to have to woo Harry—and nobody's going to die if they don't get together (though it wouldn't be as much fun without the slashy goodness!) So stay tuned, and find out how Draco sets out to do this. Maybe it'll be like watching Wiley Coyote chase the roadrunner, but maybe Draco will have better luck.

For those of you pagans out there, I recently found out that the ancient Romans celebrated winter solstice on December 25. So Narcissa's Roman theme just became all the more appropriate. ^_~ Happy Solstice, Christmas, (belated) Hanukah, Kwanzaa, New Year's, Day of Bob, whatever—if you celebrate it, have a happy!

* * *

** Harry Potter and the Malfoylicious Play**

** Christmas Edition**

After a long hard day of Ministry raids and Death Eater business meetings, Lucius Malfoy fell asleep in a chair, mumbling to himself about what life would be like if he had never been born...

"'Ear that? Sounds like a prime job for me, it does!"

"Yes, Stan. Now shut up and go! Remember, your wings are at stake..."

Lucius woke up to a cold sensation passing through him. He opened his eyes and saw a ghost standing before him, dressed in the uniform of a Knight Bus attendant. The ghost smiled and saluted him.

"'Ere, now, Gov'nor, the name's Stand Shunpike, recently deceased, and ready to take you out on a spin so's I can get me wings. Got run over by me own bus—'ow's that for rotten luck, I ask you? Anyway, I'm to show you life what's it like had you never been born. Come on, then!"

Stan turned away, motioning for Lucius to follow him. Lucius rolled his eyes and stood up, albeit reluctantly, and began to follow. 

"_Must_ you be so patronizingly Cockney?" he sighed.

Later...

"_What happened to Malfoy Manor?!"_ Lucius stood outside, shaking the large iron gates that closed off the Manor from the lane. On the front lawn, he could see what looked like a muggle car on cinder blocks, and a few other odd, out-of-place items were visible from the road. "And why is the Malfoy 'M' turned upside down on the gate?" he demanded, looking up at the letter affixed to the tall iron construction.

"'S'no longer Malfoy Manor, now, is it?" Stan challenged him. "Remember, you were never born, so your parents went up an' sold it an' moved to Bermuda. That 'W' up there's to represent the current family in residence."

Lucius squinted and saw a red-headed figure in one of the windows of the mansion, and a horror finally dawned on him. "_Weasley?!_" he cried, "The Manor belongs to the _Weasleys?"_

Stan nodded. "Doing right well now, they are," he said.

Still later...

"Narcissa! It's me, Lucius! Don't you know me??"

"STUPEFY!!!"

Lucius fell backwards on the sidewalk as he heard Narsicca's footsteps run away and two more sets of footsteps approach.

"Narcissa, darling, are you all right?"

"I—I think so," she answered, "this man grabbed me and acted like he knew me! But I've never seen him before in my life!"

Lucius regained his sense of mobility and sat up. Narcissa was standing in the arms of a very strong, dashing, and attractive-looking Snape. 

Snape snarled at him. "Stay away from my wife!"

"But—but—"

Stan helped him up and ushered him away. "You never married her, remember?" He laughed. "What, did you think she wouldn't never marry, if she couldn't marry you? Think she might've ended up a spinster librarian, did you?"

"This is nonsense! I'm going to find Lord Voldemort!"

"You mean Tom Riddle?" Stand shook his head. "Never lived to become 'Ee-oo-must-not-be-named," he said, "Without the financial backing of the Malfoy family, 'is ideas never gathered followers, and 'e died alone and unknown. Just think," he continued, "'Ow many lives were never lost without 'im to do the losin' of 'em."

Just then, a teenaged boy walked past them, talking to Pansy Parkinson. The boy looked exactly like Harry Potter, but without the scar. "Just wait until _my father_ hears about this," anti-Harry drawled boredly, "Those Weasleys and their _ nouveau-riche_ ways are a disgrace to the name of wizard. Imagine, they want to change the name of this town back to Hogsmeade." He and Pansy passed beyond Lucius's hearing range.

Lucius turned to Stan expectantly. "What does he mean? Isn't this Hogsmeade?"

Stan shook his head. "Pottersville," he said.

"_POTTERSVILLE??!!"_ Lucius sank down to his knees in disbelief. "But this can't be! I'd never allow—"

"You were never there to prevent it," Stan pointed out. "Voldemort never killed all those people, so the Potters lived, an' ickle Harry never got his scar, just like Narcissa never married you an' the two of you never 'ad Draco—"

"But—here's my wedding ring!" Lucius held up his hand, but his ring finger was missing. "And my Dark Mark—"

"Both gone," Stan explained, "you were never born to get them! How thick can you be?"

"Even Draco's—" Lucius frantically fished around in his pockets for some proof of Draco's existence. "Even Draco's soul, captured in a baby tooth, coated in adamantine, and attached to my keychain?"

"Even Draco's soul."

Lucius buried his face in his hands. "Oh, what a world! I want my life back! I want my life back! I want my life back!"

"Father!" Lucius found himself being shaken awake. He pulled his hands away from his face and saw Draco looking down at him, an expression of mild concern on his face. 

"Draco! You're ALIVE!" Lucius grabbed him in a big bear hug. Draco looked mildly horrified, then relieved when his father finally let him go.

"Lucius? Whatever is the matter?"

"Narcissa! I love you!" He pulled her to him and covered her lips in an unusually affectionate kiss.

"And we're in the Manor!" he cried, and spun himself around the drawing room. "It's good to be alive!"

Narcissa and Draco shared a puzzled, concerned look. Suddenly one of the house-elves entered the room carrying a tea tray, a ridiculous-looking jingle bell attached to its tea towel in a display of Christmas cheer. Lucius heard the bell jingle as the house-elf approached. 

"Hear that, Draco? Every time a bell rings..." he stopped short, unsure how the rest of the saying was supposed to go. He had only heard it once in his childhood, and it had never mattered much to him.

"Something inane and pointless happens?" Draco volunteered in his drawling voice.

Lucius considered this. "That'll have to do," he decided. "Happy Christmas, everyone! Let's sing carols!"

* * *

Yeah, I killed Stan Shunpike. And I messed with It's A Wonderful Life. Nothing is sacred here. But hats off to Cassandra Claire, whose Draco Dormiens series I shamelessly spoofed with the keychain containing Draco's soul! 

Here's a teaser for Chapter 6:

The classroom exploded into applause and cheers. Most of the guys—especially the Gryffindors—were laughing so hard that he saw a couple of them wipe away tears. But that was fine with him. He was supposed to be under the Imperius Curse, after all. And Potter was beyond amazed, he noted with satisfaction; the other boy was still staring at him like a deer trapped in headlights, his mouth slightly open and a fierce blush across his cheeks.

"Er, um, yes, very well done, Mr. Malfoy," Professor Grubbly-Plank fumbled, still wondering exactly what had just happened. "Now, could you kindly remove yourself from my desk and find your seat?"

Now, I'd like lots of nice reviews for my Christmas present, please. ^_~

--MCF


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